


Missing Connections

by fandomfrolics



Series: Craigslist 'Verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfrolics/pseuds/fandomfrolics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve discovers the magic of Craigslist (and Tony's inner voice never knows when to shut up).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When people ask how they got together, there’s always a little awkward laughter. A hem and a haw, a quick glimpse between them. It’s not that they’re ashamed, it’s just that it’s a bit of a convoluted story. So sometimes they pick out certain parts. There was their first meeting, sure, and their first kiss, but in between there was a whole lot of something else. And it started, strangely enough, with Craigslist.

It sort of went like this. 

***

Tony Stark never took the subway in New York. It was noisy and dark and smelled like pee. And ugh, people. So many people. But once in awhile he popped over to his alma mater in Boston - sometimes to give speeches, sometimes to find worthy projects to fund and sometimes even to pay a visit to the one professor who hadn’t been mortally offended when Tony corrected him in lecture. And once in awhile he gave Happy the afternoon off (Happy never objected. The man had an unhealthy obsession with clam chowder), loaded up his Charlie Card, and turned off his usual urges to call attention to himself. The subway in Boston was his happy place. The trains worked. It was easy. And it was _clean_. And the MIT station had such fun toys to play with. (Tony especially enjoyed that brief ride between the Harvard and MIT stops, watching the smug, preppy types give way to the quirky and indefatigable. And no he wasn’t biased in any way.) 

One particularly blustery afternoon, however, Tony was regretting his childish obsession with trains and thinking wistfully of the heated seats in his car. The brisk walk to the station had not been kind to his ears and even underground, the chill bit at him through his thick coat. He leant against the wall, tapping away at his Starkphone (and damn was he proud of himself for finally getting it to work underground) and waited impatiently for the train that was to whisk him back over the icy Charles river and back to his hotel. Pepper had taken it upon herself to fill his time in Boston with meetings and fundraisers, and he had less than an hour to transform himself from friendly alumnus into the Tony Stark his investors knew (and hated). The jeans and Guns and Roses t-shirt he wore under all the layers probably wouldn’t fly. 

He heard the telltale clacks of the train jostling the tracks on approach and pushed away from the wall, not looking up from the schematics he was tweaking. A quick glimpse up so he could guide his feet towards the train doors and then back down to the screen. Maybe if he could scale this part down half an inch...

“Oh excuse me!”

Tony pulled his attention away from his phone to look up at what, or rather who, had barged rather violently into his shoulder from behind, causing him to stumble forward through the doors. He was just about to let loose a stream of truly brilliant snark when his brain finally translated what his eyes were seeing, freezing the words in his throat. A tall, blond, absolutely stunning man was standing in front of him just inside the closing doors (seriously, what the fuck, this man belonged on an Abercrombie and Fitch billboard. Shirtless like the rest of them). He was rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish look on his deliciously reddened face.

“Sorry, I should have been watching where I was going. Got a bit caught up in my reading,” the man waved his (from what Tony could garner through his winter attire, ridiculously muscled) arm, a book clenched tightly in his hand, his finger caught between the pages to mark his spot.

“Um, yeah, that’s ok. I was...” Tony cleared the dust from his throat, “I was a little distracted too.” He waved his phone, mirroring the other man’s gesture. “No harm done.”

The man shot him a grateful smile and stepped around Tony to claim one of the many empty seats, seemingly anxious to get back to his book. Tony stood frozen for a second, his brain flashing the blue screen of death. He stared at the doors, rebooting, before spinning around and taking a seat of his own. One which just so happened to be directly opposite the real-life Ken doll. He turned his attention back to the Starkphone still clutched in his hand, sneaking a peek up at the stranger every now and then.

The man was leaning forward, both elbows resting on his knees with one hand holding the book and the other propping up his chin. He wore a thick North Face fleece with what looked to be a pale plaid shirt underneath. The jacket wasn’t zipped up all the way and Tony caught a glimpse of his Adam’s apple peeking out from between the buttons of his shirt. His ridiculously long legs were clad in faded denim, ending in a pair of worn-in Adidas sneakers. The only indication that he’d been out in the same turbulent winds that had Tony whining internally were the hairs sticking up at the back of his otherwise neat head and the slight pink around his ears and nose. The small part of Tony that wasn’t admiring the view bristled at the unfairness of it all. He hated feeling cold.

On his fourth peek, Tony looked at the book that had so viciously consumed this guy’s attention (Ender’s Game? Really? This man was not supposed to get _more_ appealing). Tony twitched. He didn’t understand what it was about this man that made Tony feel like a protagonist in a trashy romance novel. He was Tony Stark. If he wanted somebody (and man did he want this somebody), he didn’t sit in the corner shooting them coy glances from under long eyelashes (though Tony had some nice eyelashes, if he did say so himself). He turned on his trademark Tony Stark Charisma (and he really should see Pepper about getting that name trademarked. He could sell it as a fragrance - ‘bring out the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist in you!’ He’d buy it). Unfortunately his Charisma seemed to have crawled away somewhere between getting shoved in the shoulder and having those azure eyes (yes azure. No this did not help his romance novel case. Shut up.) assault him in apology.

This was stupid. Okay, here goes. 

He took a deep breath.

“Hrghhh,” Tony choked. On his own spit.

“Are you okay?” Great. Mission accomplished. The stranger was looking at him now, disgustingly gorgeous eyes wide. Unfortunately Tony was too busy trying to cough up a lung to celebrate.

Tony hacked a couple of times more, desperately trying to get his throat to start behaving like a good throat should. This was probably payback for all the whiskey he’d poured down it.

“Yeah, I’m...” he coughed slightly, “I’m good” he mumbled, hand covering his mouth. “Must have inhaled a fly or something.”

Abercrombie gave him a strange look (Tony was no stranger to strange looks. He received an average of 17.4 a day) and opened his mouth as if to reply when his eyes flitted left of Tony’s shoulder to the opening train doors. His pale eyebrows drew together in concern before he jumped up from his seat and darted forwards, book forgotten on the seat next to him. Tony turned to see what could make the man so anxiously discard his precious novel and barely bit back a groan at the scene unfolding. A little old lady, complete with a walker on wheels, was trying to board the train. The four bags of groceries hanging off the walker’s handles were hindering her slightly and Boy Scout here was running to help her. Seriously this guy probably had every badge in the book. Tony watched, disbelieving, as his stranger (yes, _his_. Back off old lady) took the senior citizen’s groceries and led her to a seat, steadying her as the train started to move. Tony would bet every car in his garage that If he had tried to take the lady by the arm, he would have received a beating to the head for his trouble. Death by handbag did not appeal to him.

Once he had settled the elderly woman, Boy Scout returned to his seat, leaning back and stretching his endless legs out in front of him. He shot Tony a quick glance, face unreadable, before picking up his novel and immersing himself back in his reading, the book now held high enough to hide most of his face. Well, maybe Tony hadn’t been as subtle as he thought in his staring. Ok, he’d been pretty openly gawking those last couple of minutes. But seriously, was this guy from the 40s or something? Nobody was that... _chivalrous_...any more. Not unless they were hoping to get laid. (Hmm, maybe this guy just had a thing for really old women. What did you call them? Grandcougars? But that didn’t seem very safe. Her hips looked like they would shatter on impact. Oh god now he was picturing it. Guhh brain bleach. He should invent that. And then use it _all_.)

Tony rubbed at his eyes, giving up on his brain for the time being. It clearly was not in the mood to cooperate today. He leaned his head back against the window and let his eyes flutter shut. The rumble of the train beneath his feet was familiar and soothing. He tried desperately to ignore the hyper-aware state his body was in while in such close proximity to the-man-who-was-so-perfect-he-probably-did-not-actually-exist. Tried and failed. He could hear the man’s slow breaths and the rustle of his jacket as he adjusted his hold on the book. Tony bounced his leg up and down, his fingers clenching and unclenching around his phone. He thought he could feel the man’s gaze on him, probably glaring at him for fidgeting so much and distracting him from Peter Wiggin’s sociopathic machinations. 

As much as Tony had enjoyed the view, he was anxious to just get away from the whole embarrassing situation. Honestly, it was like being thirteen again. So he was absurdly grateful when the train stopped and he heard movement from across the aisle. He opened his eyes to see Boy Scout rise to disembark (damn the man had a nice ass). Tony contemplated a last ditch effort to get the guy’s number, or at least a name, but decided he should quit while he was behind. The doors shut, forever cutting him off from the mystical stranger who had so quickly managed the near-impossible task of silencing Tony Stark.

***

Steve Rogers entered his dorm room, shutting the door behind him with one hand and tossing his keys on the desk with the other. He took two steps forward and collapsed face-first onto his neatly-made bed. 

He lay there for a few seconds with his eyes shut, breathing deeply into the blankets. Finally, he rolled over, pulling his cellphone out of his front pocket and flipping it open. Steve pushed the green button to call his last dialed number and held it up to his ear, staring blankly at the ceiling as the familiar tone reverberated through his brain.

“Hello?” A friendly female voice answered.

“This book is dangerous,” Steve announced. He reached one hand into his jacket pocket to fish the offending object out and held it up in front of his face.

There was a snort on the other end of the line. “Dangerous in how great it is, you mean?”

“Well that. Also dangerous in that it causes physical harm.” Steve tossed the book to one side and rested his free hand in his hair.

“What, did you get a paper cut or something? Or are the words too big for you, Captain Muscles? ” The tone was warm and teasing, taking the sting out of the words.

“Ha ha. Good one,” he retorted. “No, I was reading it while waiting to board the train. And then the train got there and I wanted to keep reading so I wasn’t really watching where I was going and I sort of...barged right into someone.”

“Oh god Steve tell me you didn’t accidentally push somebody onto the tracks...”

“What?!” Steve squeaked. “Why would you say that?”

“Well sorry, it’s just that sometimes you don’t know you’re own strength. It’s like you forget that you’re no longer the scrawny kid that blows over in the slightest bit of wind.”

“I can’t help it Peggy, I was that kid for a really long time if you remember. Wait...” he paused, suddenly horrified. “I haven’t hurt you have I? I mean, do I ever accidentally...”

“No, no!” Peggy exclaimed, cutting off that train of thought. “I was just joking Steve. You’re as soft and gentle as a fawn.”

“Oh,” he replied, mollified. And vaguely insulted. “Anyway, no, I just...bumped him a little. And then I said sorry. He was...really nice about it actually.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Okay...so what am I missing here? Sorry I gave you a book that made you walk into people? Wait...” Steve winced, knowing Peggy had figured it out. “You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Steve was glad this conversation was taking place over the phone so that Peggy couldn’t see just how brightly his face was glowing. He hated how easily he blushed. “Oh my god you totally do! I can hear you blushing!” 

Oh, well so much for that. 

“Well, I may have been...admiring him a little. And I sort of think he was maybe checking me out too?”

“Are you asking me? I wasn’t there! What makes you think he was interested? Did he hit on you? Did you hit on him?” Peggy’s voice grew in excitement, her words coming faster and faster. Steve was having some trouble keeping up. “No wait, back up a second. What does he look like? Tall, dark and handsome?”

“He’s...hard to describe,” Steve said slowly.

Peggy let out an impatient noise. “Well, try!”

Steve sighed, closing his eyes. He felt like the image of this man, this stranger he had barely exchanged two words with, was burned into his eyelids. He could see the small quirk of the man’s eyebrow when he had first spun around, ready to reprimand Steve for his clumsiness. He pictured the way the man’s long fingers skated over his smartphone, looking far more like he was playing an intricate piano piece than writing an email. He recalled the way the man had exuded energy, practically exploded with it, even while doing something as mundane as sitting in a train. 

“He...he wasn’t that tall, a couple inches shorter than me. Dark hair and...” Steve faltered, remembering the way the man’s deep brown eyes had been tracking him as he assisted that elderly lady.

“And...?” Peggy prompted, amusement clear in her voice.

Steve opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “And dark eyes. He also had a goatee. And he looked really cold. I think he might have been sick or something.”

“Sexy.”

Steve hummed noncommittally.

“So did you talk to him? Are you gonna ask him out?” Peggy pushed on.

“No I...we didn’t really talk. I...well...he kept looking at me and I thought...I thought he was going to say something. But he never did.” Steve sighed again, sitting up. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a little at the strands at the back. “I guess I should have made a move. Instead of just sitting there, sneaking glances at him from behind my book like a creeper.”

“You’re not a creeper. You’re just...reserved. I mean, it’s understandable, with all the dickheads you’ve encountered.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I sure do know how to pick ‘em don’t I?” He reached down and pulled off his shoes, lining them up neatly beside his bed. “God, why am I so bad at this? I feel like it’s not supposed to be this hard. Is it supposed to be this hard? Or am I just a special flower?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Dating is the world’s worst invention,” Peggy answered. “But maybe you should try something new.”

“Like what? Speed dating?” Steve asked, his tone skeptical. He scooted back on his bed so he could lean on the pillows propped against the wall, stretching his legs out one on top of the other.

“Uh, no. Tried that once, never again.” Steve made a note to ask about that later. “No, well, so this guy. You really liked him right? I mean, especially considering how short your encounter was. So there must be something worth exploring there...” Peggy trailed off, sounding like she had a plot brewing. It worried Steve when Peggy brewed plots.

“Yeah I guess...” he conceded. “But it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again. I mean, what are the chances of us running into each other?” He pulled his legs in towards his chest, resting his arms on his knees. “Also, our encounter? You make it sound like he was an alien studying me for human experimentation.”

“Well if that’s true they’re going to be sorely disappointed when they see the rest of the men,” Peggy deadpanned. “Anyway,” she continued, not waiting for a response, “at MIT we have this site called ISawYou where people post sightings of other people they might be interested in. I’m sure there’s a BU version too, all the colleges seem to have one. Basically, if you see somebody around and you want to connect with them, you post a description of the person and the place you saw them. And hopefully that person sees it and replies.”

“Ooooookay...” Steve drawled, waiting for more. “So how does this help me? I don’t really think he’s a student at MIT or Boston University. He looked like he had a job.”

“Ooh an older man, huh? Good call, you’re like a hundred years old yourself.”

“Hey!” Steve objected.

“Oh you know it’s true. Anyway, so where I was going with this was, there’s a public version of this on Craigslist. It’s called Missed Connections and it basically works the same way.”

“Craiglist?! Isn’t that the site where guys trick unsuspecting women into meeting them so they can kill them?!” Steve exclaimed, eyebrows climbing towards his hairline.

“No! Well, yes. But that’s not all it is! And that was just one guy. Lots of people use it and they’re perfectly fine.” Peggy stated matter-of-factly.

“So you want me to post on Craigslist. Even if I was crazy enough to actually do it, what makes you think the guy from the train would see it? He didn’t really seem like the type to spend his time scouring the deep dark recesses of the Internet for men. And that’s another point - I don’t even know if he’s gay.”

“And you won’t ever know if you don’t try. I mean, what’s the worse that could happen? And don’t say you could get murdered by the Craigslist Killer.” Steve snapped his jaw shut. That had been exactly what he was about to say.

Peggy’s voice softened. “Look, Steve, all I’m saying is, try it. The way you talked about this guy, I can tell you really like him. I haven’t heard you this enthusiastic about a guy since sophomore year. And that was a looooong time ago. What have you got to lose?”

Steve hesitated. He had been really intrigued by the stranger on the train. There was something about him that drew Steve in, a pull Steve didn’t think he’d ever felt before. At worst, it would make for a funny story far, far in the future. “I guess you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” Peggy teased, not missing a beat.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes indeed.”

“Anyway, I should really get back to my problem set. But don’t chicken out on me. I want to see a posting on there by tomorrow. I can proofread it for you if you want.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll email something over in a little while.”

“Good.” Steve grinned. Becoming an ROTC officer had not done anything to ease Peggy’s bossiness. “It was good seeing you today,” she went on. “You should really try to get over the river more often. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Maybe we should plan more ROTC mixers. Catching up is even better when the food is on the Army.”

Peggy laughed. “That’s true. But then we would have to deal with Fury hanging around with his creepy eyepatch.”

“Good point,” Steve agreed. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to your work. Thanks again for the book and good luck with all the math.”

“Gee thanks. Good luck with the personal ad writing. Bye!” she chirped.

“Bye,” Steve responded. He pulled his phone away from his ear and gazed at it for a second before clapping it shut. As with most of their conversations about dating, Steve found himself afterwards wishing once again that he’d just been able to make it work with Peggy. Granted, the whole him being gay thing was sort of a dealbreaker but he still loved her. He would say he loved her even more now, if it was possible, than when they had been dating in high school. He was glad they’d both ended up at schools so close to each other.

Steve dropped his phone on the mattress and stood up, stretching his arms over his head. He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook behind his door, then took a seat at his desk. As his laptop powered up, he thought back to their conversation and about what he was about to do. The whole idea still seemed ridiculous to him and he highly doubted it would work, but like Peggy said, there was no harm in trying. And she did have an alarmingly high tendency of being proven right. 

Mind made up, he opened up a blank document, rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. He’d crank out a draft and send it to Peggy before his senses got the better of him.

Gosh that cursor was intimidating wasn’t it? Did it really have to keep blinking like that? It had an unnerving similarity to the countdown of a ticking time-bomb. Maybe he should do some research. 

He opened a browser and navigated to Boston’s Craigslist page. Missed connections, m4m, yes he was over 18 thank you very much. He clicked on a few, avoiding the ones that looked like some kind of porn ad (there were surprisingly few of those). Hmm. It seemed straightforward enough. Some of the postings were even sweet.

Okay. He could do this. Start simple - time, date, place. Then work up to the big stuff.

Steve moved his hands to the keyboard and started typing.


	2. Chapter 2

James Rhodes was a jerk. Yeah, yeah the guy was a hero, fighting for America’s freedom and all that (and he was a hell of a beer pong partner), but all that didn’t change facts - Rhodey was a jerk.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Tony huffed. He reclaimed his seat on the end of the couch Rhodey was sprawled out on, his hand glancing off the back of the soldier’s head as he passed. Rhodey didn’t even react, just continued rocking back and forth on his seat, loud guffaws shaking his entire body. Tony was deeply regretting ever telling him the story of the guy from the train. Or at least not editing it so he sounded more suave and less like the nerd getting shut down for a dance at prom. He took a deep swig from the glass in his hand as he waited for Rhodey to finish his giggle fit, relishing the familiar burn of the scotch down his throat.

A couple of minutes later Rhodey finally pulled himself together enough to speak. “Aw man,” he exhaled, wiping his eyes. “Sorry...it’s just...how do you even do that?” he asked, his voice still strangled with mirth. “You just choked on nothing? This guy must have been really something special.” He grinned. “Too bad you’re balls seemed to have disappeared since the last time I saw you.”

“Great, thanks, ever the supportive friend you are,” Tony retorted. “I have no idea what that was and l don’t even know why I told you so let’s just never speak of it again. In the meantime, I need to run some tests and make sure I haven’t actually completely lost the magic.”

Rhodey just looked confused.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Translation: we’re going out.”

***

Four hours (and twelve shots) later, Tony had finished his experiments and the results had all come back positive. He clearly still had it, whatever it was that made men, women, and politicians alike want to jump him. What he did seem to have lost, however, was the desire to jump them back. The bar was packed with beautiful specimens of every type, yet all Tony could think about was one man. Who he’d probably never see again. 

Tony sighed. Maybe he should just go home. He glanced around, squinting in the dark smoky atmosphere, before he spotted who he was looking for. Rhodey was leaning one elbow on the bar, drink in one hand and attention fully focused on the woman in front of him. Tony locked his target and set off.

“Rhodey, hey Rhodey...Rhoooooooooodeeeeeeeeeey,” Tony whined as he came up, poking incessantly at the other man’s back. Rhodey turned slightly, clearly not happy to have his attention taken away from the (admittedly drop-dead gorgeous. _Damn_ , Rhodey) woman he was conversing with.

“What, Tony?” he asked exasperatedly.

“I got the results Rhodey! I’m clean!” Tony exclaimed, throwing both hands in the air.

The woman gasped.

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t mean STD-wise. Although, yes that too, I’m definitely clean. And so’s Rhodey over here.” He tried clapping one hand on Rhodey’s shoulder but missed and skimmed his arm instead. Tony peered at his hand blankly for a second before trying again, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. “Aha!” he proclaimed when he hit his target. “Now what was I saying? Yes! This man! Clean! And healthy! And damn is he packing, so you should definitely go for it, good choice you’ve makshfdsjk” Tony trailed off as Rhodey clapped his hand over his mouth.

“Excuse us, would you?” He said to his companion, placing his drink down and dragging Tony away.

“What the hell was that?”

“Rhodey I don’t understand! I’m completely fine!” Rhodey looked altogether too disbelieving at that statement but Tony soldiered on. “I must have flirted with half the bar and nope, no choking. Zip, nada! Not even a little cough!”

“Well, congratulations! Remind me to send a fruit basket. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bombshell to get back to.”

Tony grabbed at his arm as he began to move away.

“Noooo Rhodey you don’t get it! I flirted with all of them just to see if I could but I don’t actually want any of them! All I can think about is that stupid blonde from that stupid train and I don’t understand! I’m never taking fucking public transport again. Is this what happens when you’re poor? You just meet people on trains and then never see them again and they get stuck in your head and don’t leave you alone even though there are leggy twins in front of you with clear daddy issues who both want to do things?!” Tony shook his hands in Rhodey’s face. “ _Things_ Rhodey! With twins! And not even a twitch!” Tony waved his hand in the vague region of his groin.

Rhodey groaned. “Okay, that is too much information and not enough alcohol. If we’re going to do this, I clearly have a lot of catching up to do. Give me a minute.” He returned to the bar. Tony watched as he lowered his head and mumbled something to his friend. She handed him a card and walked away, turning back once to shoot him a smile. Rhodey pocketed the card and turned to the bartender, indicating two with his hand.

He returned to Tony’s side and placed both drinks on the tall table Tony had somehow found himself sitting at. Tony reached for one but Rhodey slapped his hand away.

“Nope, those are both for me. I think you’ve had enough.” Tony just huffed, slouching precariously on his stool and folding his arms with a pout.

“I swear, you are five sometimes.” He tossed one drink back and grabbed the other one, sipping at this one more slowly. “So...you have a crush.”

“Exsqueeeeeeeze me? I do not get crushes. I am merely an admirer of the human form. That’s all this is! This guy had a great human form. It was all ash...asp...what’s that word?”

“...aesthetics?” Rhodey tried.

“Aesthetics!” Tony repeated triumphantly, waving one finger in Rhodey’s general direction. “So tell me, good sir, how that is a crush?”

“Let’s see, you’ve basically talked about him nonstop since you got back,” Rhodey began, ticking each point off on his fingers. “You spent 20 minutes talking to that one tall blonde dude over there even though he didn’t even _speak English_. You got yourself very drunk very quickly, something you haven’t done for awhile. You admitted you don’t want to hook up with anybody in this whole damn bar, including what apparently are some very slutty twins. And...you _choked_.”

Tony stared blankly at him for a second, then folded his arms on the table and dropped his head onto them. “Well fuck.”

***

Tony was dragged to consciousness the next day by a shrill beeping noise. He groaned, trying to figure out what the fuck was trying to cause him a slow and painful death by headache.

“Shhhhhhhh,” he tried, swatting at the air. Unsurprisingly, the beeping continued. He rolled over (owww what the hell happened to his right arm?) onto his side and opened his eyes slightly, peering at the nightstand. He spotted the offending object there. His cellphone was lighting up like a Christmas tree on crack, clearly the cause of the noise that was trying to cleave his head in two. He reached out slowly and picked it up, squinting at it as it continued to squawk at him. He stared at it for two seconds and then went for his favorite method of shutting things up - he chucked it as hard as he could at the wall. The phone bounced hard and landed with a surprisingly loud thunk on the carpet. It gave one last pathetic squeak before quieting completely (clearly Tony was going to have to work on that. Any phone he designed should have a little more backbone). Tony sighed in relief and shut his eyes, happily letting sleep reclaim him.

That happiness didn’t even last long enough for him to sink back into the delicious dream he’d been having about Mystery Man (must remember to never let that slip in front of Rhodey). Approximately 15 minutes after his victory over the phone-from-hell his door was unceremoniously thrown in, a slightly peevish redhead on the other side.

“Tony! I can’t _believe_ you are still sleeping. You have a board meeting in 20 minutes!”

Tony moaned. “Indoor voice, Pepper,” he rasped out.

Pepper ignored him (she was way too practiced at that) and stepped up to the bed. “JARVIS, open the shades please.” Tony yelped as light suddenly filled the room, flooding his vision. “I don’t care how hungover you are, you’re going to this meeting. _And_ you’re going to look presentable, after that shit you pulled last time.”

Tony gingerly pushed his blankets off and sat up, dropping his legs off the side of the bed. He looked up through blurred eyes at the walking hurricane that was his assistant. She stuck her arms out towards him, one hand proffering a couple of Advil and the other a mug of what smelled like coffee. Tony took both gratefully (he really needed to give this woman a raise. She was amazingly useful when she wasn’t shrieking at him. Okay, fine, maybe the shrieking had its uses too), tossing back the pills and downing the entire mug in one fell swoop. 

“Okay, that ‘shit’? Totally not my fault,” he defended, his brain gradually coming back online. “Clint _dared_ me. I wasn’t going to back down from a dare!”

“You’re the CEO of a global company. I think you can pass on a dare.” Pepper tossed a suit at him that she had, at some point in the last 30 seconds, grabbed from his walk-in closet (Tony swore she could teleport). “Go take a shower. You smell like the floor of a frat house.”

Tony pulled the jacket off his face just in time to see Hurricane Pepper retreat out the door just as fast as she had blown in.

He entered the kitchen after a quick shower, feeling way more human now that the pills and coffee had kicked in. Pepper was sitting straight up on her stool, tapping efficiently at the tablet set in front of her. Next to her sat Rhodey, head resting on its side on the marble countertop, eyes shut.

“Rhodey! I didn’t know you were still here!” Tony exclaimed, reaching for one of the donuts on the plate by Rhodey’s head (seriously, Pepper was a godsend).

“Remind me to never, _ever_ go drinking with you again,” Rhodey mumbled, not opening his eyes.

“Oh snookums, you say that every time. Keep it up and one of these days I might actually take you seriously.” Tony took a huge bite of the powdered donut.

“How are you so...functional right now?” Rhodey asked, aghast. 

“Practice,” Tony said. Pepper snorted. “And the magic of assistants who know exactly what your morning after routine is,” Tony added, words garbled slightly by the food in his mouth. He swallowed hard. “By the way, do you remember if we got any exercise in last night? My arm feels like I tried to lift a truck.”

“That would probably be from the arm-wrestling,” Rhodey replied. He lifted his head and scrubbed at his face with both hands. “You wanted to prove your manhood after we decided you did, in fact, have a crush like a teenage girl.”

“That’s how I proved my manhood? Man, it would have been a lot easier to just whip it out.”

“Okay,” Pepper interjected. “As fun as this has been, Tony we need to get going.” She stood up, slipping her tablet back into the bag hanging off her shoulder.

“Yeah, okay.” Tony stepped forward and ruffled Rhodey’s hair as he grabbed another donut, having made quick work of the first one. Rhodey snarled but was in too much pain to do much else. “See you later sweetheart,” Tony called over his shoulder as he followed Pepper to the elevator.

He stepped inside and as the doors were closing, he turned to Pepper and said “By the way, I’m going to need a new phone.”

Pepper just sighed.

***

Peggy Carter stared at the email Steve had sent her two nights ago, deep in thought. Steve’s story of his stranger had sparked a small suspicion in Peggy’s mind, one that was growing bigger by the second. She read over the email one more time, then picked up her phone decisively. She scrolled through her contacts until she found the one she was looking for.

Peggy drummed on her desk as the phone rang, thoughts churning.

“Hello?” The voice on the other side sounded off, as if the speaker had swallowed broken glass.

“Rhodes? It’s Peggy. Did I wake you?” She shot a glance at her computer screen. It was past 11am, way too late for Sergeant Jim Rhodes to still be asleep.

“Hmm? No, I’m just...” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I might be a little hungover.” Peggy grinned. “So what’s going on? How are you? It’s been way too long.” Rhodey continued, perking up slightly.

“Well who’s fault is that, Mr. Big Shot Air Force guy? You’ve become quite the legend here at our little program. Fury wants us all to aspire to be you.”

Rhodey snorted. “Uh...no. I would strongly advise against it. Most of those MIT ROTC folk are barely hanging on as is, I can’t imagine how they would deal with actually being out in the field.”

Peggy hummed in agreement. “Some of those freshmen look like they’re fresh out of middle school. Was I that weedy-looking when I was their age?”

“You were the weediest of the lot,” Rhodey laughed. “Unfortunately, somebody forgot to tell your brain that.”

“I was pretty mouthy wasn’t I? I I don’t know how you dealt with me, I can barely keep from strangling my freshmen half the time.”

“I was secretly drunk the entire time,” he joked. “So was there something on your mind or did you really just miss your dear commanding officer?”

“A bit of both,” Peggy replied. She paused, glancing once again at the email. “You’re friends with Tony Stark right?”

“Unfortunately. He’s the reason I’m a little...incapacitated this morning. Why?”

“Well I know he came to visit campus a couple of days ago. Do you know if anything special happened while he was here? If he met anybody interesting maybe?”

“Actually...” Rhodey started, dragging out the word. “Yes.” Peggy could hear him shifting around. “Why, what do you know?”

“I know that my friend bumped into somebody on the train. Somebody he seems to find intriguing.”

“That’s funny. Tony bumped into somebody on the train too. Somebody he finds, quote, utterly...actually no you don’t want to hear that quote.” Rhodey hastily interrupted himself. “Woah. That’s sort of a crazy coincidence isn’t it? How’d you even know it was Tony?”

“My friend is very descriptive,” Peggy deadpanned, thinking of Steve’s ever-so-helpful description of ‘dark hair, dark eyes’. At least he’d been more thorough in his Craigslist post. “Also I saw Stark head into the train station as I was walking my friend over. There weren’t really that many people heading into the MIT stop at that time. I sort of took a guess.”

“Well that was one hell of a guess,” Rhodey remarked. “This is great! You won’t believe how hung up Tony’s been on this guy, he’s gonna be thrilled.”

“Not so fast,” Peggy cut in. “I’ve heard a lot about Stark’s reputation. I don’t really know if I want to expose my friend to that.”

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line. “Well, that’s your friend’s choice isn’t it?”

“Not if I don’t give it to him. St- my friend’s been through a lot. He doesn’t need any more bullshit.”

“Listen, Peggy, despite how much the media tries to paint him as one, Tony’s not a bad guy. He might make bad decisions sometimes but he’s been through a lot himself.” Rhodey sighed. “He’s just a guy living his life the best way he knows how.”

Peggy bit her lip, thinking hard.

“You’re really protective of this guy, aren’t you?” Rhodey asked quietly.

“We’ve got a lot of history. I just, I can’t see him get hurt anymore.” Peggy murmured. “Okay, how about this?” she continued after a beat, her tone brisk. “Steve’s put an ad on Craiglist’s Missed Connections, looking for this guy from the train. How about you direct Tony towards it and we’ll see what happens from there? That way they can both stay anonymous, no baggage attached.”

“Hmm,” Rhodey hesitated. “I’m not really a fan of the whole cloak-and-dagger thing. I think we should just tell ‘em.” he said. “But Tony seems to really like this guy and if that’s the only way you’re gonna let it happen, then I guess that’s what I have to work with. Just so you know,” he added, “I’m shipping out tomorrow so when shit hits the fan, you’re going to have to deal with it.”

“Fine. I’m majoring in shit hitting fans anyway.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve wrenched open his room door. “Did you really have to knock eighteen times?” he asked. On the other side of the threshold stood Steve’s best friend and bane of his existence, James Buchanan Barnes.

“Did you really have to take so long to answer?” Bucky shot back unconcernedly. “What’re you doing anyway? Having a little me-time?” Bucky made a crude gesture as he looked over Steve’s shoulder to see his laptop resting open on his bed.

Steve flushed. “No. I’m just...”

“Aw man, don’t tell me you’ve just been refreshing your email. The ad’s only been up a day Steve, give it time.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm. “Come on, we’re going out.”

Steve barely managed to grab his jacket from behind the door as Bucky pulled him bodily from the room.

They ended up at Spike’s Hot Dogs, Bucky’s favorite place to eat. Once every other week he would try to break the record for most hot dogs eaten in a row so he could get a free t-shirt and his picture up on the wall. Once every other week he ended up puking his guts out in the restaurant’s bathroom.

“So what's your major this week?” Steve asked as they slid into a booth with their food in hand.

“Ha ha,” Bucky drawled sarcastically. “I’ve been a Philosophy major for three whole months now, I’ll have you know.” He picked up his heaping hot dog, chili dripping messily over the side of its bun. “Although I have been thinking about switching to Advertising. I think I’d be really good at selling people crap they don’t need,” he added as he took a huge bite of his food. A glob of chili fell out the end with a splat.

Steve snorted, chewing neatly on his own hot dog. “That is definitely true,” he said, swallowing. “You know, if you keep switching you’re going to have to take an extra year. Do you really want to...” Steve trailed off as he realized Bucky wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, his attention was caught by a couple of young girls at the next table who were shooting them glances and whispering. Bucky was frowning fiercely at them, his grip tightening around his hot dog.

“They’re staring at it,” Bucky said under his breath. He flexed his left hand, the metal fingers making a slight creaking noise with the motion.

“No they’re not,” Steve replied easily. “They probably just think you’re cute.”

“Yes they are. I saw them pointing earlier,” Bucky said. Before Steve could stop him, Bucky was calling out to them. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Bucky,” Steve said reproachfully.

“What?!” Bucky snapped back. “I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m some kind of alien. I did this for them, I fucking _lost my arm_ for them,” he said, voice rising as he brandished his prosthetic in their direction, “so they can spend what little brainpower they have writing their next tweet instead of worrying about fucking Arabs blowing up their homes!”

“Bucky!” Steve yelped. 

“You know what, I’m not really hungry anymore,” Bucky said, dropping the rest of his hot dog onto his plate. He grabbed his jacket and slid out of the booth in one smooth motion, storming out the door.

Steve smiled apologetically at the rest of the room, now openly gawking at him, as he hurriedly gathered their half-eaten meals. He dumped it in the trash and followed in Bucky’s footsteps. The sun was shining brightly despite the low temperature, making Steve squint as he paused outside the entrance trying to figure out which way Bucky went. He spotted him walking briskly ahead, about half a block away. Steve followed, slipping his jacket back on as he swiftly crossed the street.

He caught up to Bucky after a couple of minutes and slowed slightly to match his pace. Bucky didn’t acknowledge Steve’s presence as he continued his determined strides forward.

They got to the riverside after a couple of blocks. Bucky plopped down onto the cold ground, left leg bent with his prosthetic arm resting on top, the metal barely visible out the end of his jacket. Steve sedately took a seat by his side. They sat in silence, the stillness broken only by the sound of Bucky ripping out the grass by the fistful.

Steve’s chest was tight. There was a time when Bucky wouldn’t have even hesitated to think the girls were eyeing him. He would have put on his best swagger and walked right up to them, pulling Steve along to occupy one girl so he could focus on the other. But that was before.

That’s what it had become now - Bucky Before and Bucky After. Most of the time Bucky After was kept hidden, buried deep down beneath the surface. But lately he’d been showing his face more and more often and Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The war had left his childhood friend scarred more than just physiologically. It had wrought it’s damage deep, had indelibly changed something in the way Bucky’s gears clicked together.

Sometimes Steve found himself thinking too much, straying onto the dangerous and windy path of What If. He’d almost gone too, had worked so damn hard to get himself healthy enough to be deemed suitable for the rigors of war. He could have been fighting alongside Bucky, maybe even been able to pull him out of the blast radius when _it_ happened. At the very least, Steve could have been there to share the experience so that Bucky wasn’t meandering this post-combat swamp alone.

But Steve’s mom hadn’t wanted that for him. She wanted him to get a degree, to take his time figuring out what he really wanted. Eighteen, she said, was too young to commit his life’s blood to anything. And she was right.

Steve had learned a lot in the last three and a half years. About himself, about his passions, and about his country. He still believed in the idea of America. He would still lay down his life for it. But that idea didn’t seem to exist anymore. At least, not to the government. Somewhere along the way, things had changed. Ulterior motives of the few and powerful predominated the needs of the weak and many. Freedom had become an alibi, a camouflage to be pulled out when operations were examined too closely. And loyal, dedicated soldiers were the unfortunate whipping boys.

He’d seen the numbers. He’d heard the stories. And he’d witnessed, helplessly and painfully, the way his government had left his best friend high and dry after his return.

“I hate this.”

Steve pulled himself out of his ruminations, glancing over at Bucky. He was staring straight out at the river, his jaw clenched and his entire body stiff except for his right hand, which was still relentlessly pulling at the grass beside him.

“I hate just sitting here, pretending everything is normal, everything is okay, taking meaningless classes in shit I could give two fucks about,” he said, voice hard. “I hate being so weak. I hate feeling like a...like a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Steve said quietly, his heart aching, aching, aching.

Bucky scoffed.

“You’re not,” Steve pushed on, placing one hand on top of Bucky’s to still the frantic motion. “You’re a hero, Bucky. It may not feel like it sometimes, but everyday you were out there, you were making a difference. Everyday you were out there, you were fighting your hardest to protect something you believed in. And that means something,” he continued earnestly as Bucky dropped his head. “That means everything.” He paused. “Even if some people are too idiotic to realize that.”

Steve could feel the wicked burn of anger in his gut, the burn that seemed to ignite whenever he was around his friend and brought with it the urgent desire to fix everything. He wished he could stop the gaping looks Bucky’s arm attracted, itched to eliminate the wrinkle of pain he saw in Bucky’s forehead when he thought nobody was looking. He was mad at himself, he was mad at his government, he was mad at the whole damn world and there was not a thing he could do about it besides sit here with Bucky, feeding him meaningless platitudes and hoping something stuck.

Bucky turned his head slightly in Steve’s direction. “I...” he started, then stopped. “Thanks,” he breathed, the word just carrying to Steve’s ears.

Steve exhaled deeply, releasing a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

Bucky looked down at where Steve’s left hand was still resting on top of his right. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to hit on me,” he said, tone forcefully light.

Steve grinned and removed his hand from Bucky’s, hooking his arm over his friend’s shoulder instead.

“What, no lecture on yelling mean or racist things in the middle of a restaurant?” Bucky asked casually after a beat.

“I would hardly call Spike’s a restaurant,” Steve deadpanned. It was a weak joke, a much more pathetic attempt than Bucky’s at lightening the mood. But Bucky’s lips arched up a little so Steve counted it a win.

Silence settled over them again, more companionable than tense this time. Steve’s eye was caught by the MIT campus across the way and he found himself thinking about Peggy. The last few years had been tough for all of them but Steve was cautiously optimistic that things would take a turn.

“I wish it were easier,” Bucky murmured after awhile.

“Give it time,” Steve replied. “It will be.” It had to be.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “Yeah.”

***

“Hey Pep?” Tony said. He was sitting across from her in her office, entertaining himself as she shuffled through some paperwork. There was no reason for him to be in there, really. He had an office of his own (with a much bigger desk, suck it Pepper) for when he felt like playing CEO or had a magazine cover to shoot. But it had become a tradition of sorts for Tony to spend the rest of the day hanging out in Pepper’s office whenever he came in (a tradition that was borne mostly out of the desire to annoy the crap out of Pepper as due punishment for forcing him out of his sanctuary). The board meeting had been long and painful, just as he’d predicted. He didn’t understand why he even had to be there. He’d much rather spend his time on the R&D floors or in his private workshop down in the basement. It worked out better that way for everyone - Tony got to do what he enjoyed, Pepper got the innovations she needed, and the stuffy old management people didn’t suffer anxiety attacks over the reminder that their boss was a loose cannon who was barely old enough to drink (and a stud with a higher IQ than all of them combined).

“Hmm?” Pepper answered distractedly, not looking up from the files in front of her.

“Do you think Rhodey is harboring secret homosexual tendencies?” Tony asked speculatively.

“What?!” 

Well, that caught her attention. “I mean,” Tony went on, “why else would he be browsing the male for male section of Craigslist?”

“I...what?”

Tony huffed, sliding his phone across the desk so Pepper could see the link Rhodey had forwarded him.

“What is this?” ‘Goatee...working intently on your phone’...is this supposed to be you?” she asked, looking up at him. “Wait, is this about your crush?”

“Oh for the love of...it is _not_ a crush!” Tony exclaimed.

“Mmhmm,” Pepper said disbelievingly. “So what’s this about?” Pepper asked, picking up the phone and waving it at him.

Tony sighed. “I saw this guy in Boston who I found...attractive and I made the mistake of telling Rhodey that.”

“Well apparently he also found you...attractive,” Pepper replied, mimicking Tony’s hesitance. “Enough to brave Craigslist at least.”

“Or maybe,” Tony said, “he’s one of those crazy serial killers you always hear about and I happen to fit whatever mold of person his brain has targeted for slaughter.”

“First of all, you need to stop watching so many crime shows. Secondly, did he _look_ like a serial killer?”

“Welllll, I guess I nicknamed him Boy Scout in my head,” Tony replied after a moment’s thought, “and he did have these really beautifully innocent eyes, but it’s always those guys who turn out to be the super fucked-up ones who eat doll heads and cut up children’s toes.”

Pepper blinked at him. “What?” he said. “I saw it on CSI! Or Grey’s Anatomy. Or something. What Pepper, jeez it wasn’t _that_ weird,” Tony finished impatiently as Pepper continued to gawk at him like he’d just announced he would take over all paperwork duties from now on.

“Did you just...bring up his eyes?” Pepper asked incredulously.

“Really?” Tony arched an eyebrow. “Out of everything I said, that’s what you latched on to?”

“It’s just...you sounded so...sincere! And gentle! And not disgusting! Normally it’s all their asses or boobs or,” she shuddered, “their packages.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably. “Well maybe I decided I needed to class things up a little.”

“Uh huh,” Pepper said. Tony didn’t like her tone. (Pepper was the master of tone. If a picture was worth a thousand words Pepper’s tone was worth a _billion_.)

She looked down at the phone still in her hand, eyes skimming over the text again. “So are you going to email him?” she asked, glancing back up at Tony.

“Of course not! Did you hear what I said about doll heads? I already have enough crazy in my life, thanks.”

Pepper’s reply was cut off by the phone in her hand vibrating and ringing loudly (Tony hated custom ringtones. He strongly believe that people with custom ringtones should all be sealed in a box and forced to listen to their ringtone on repeat for a month). She ignored Tony’s outstretched hand and slid her thumb over the answer button.

“Hey Rhodey,” she said, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Yeah we saw it...yeah pretty much...uh huh...yeah...oh _really_?” Pepper eyed Tony speculatively. “Interesting...ok...yup...yeah...Alright take care. Here he is.” Pepper finally relinquished the phone ( _his_ phone!) to him and Tony grabbed it, spinning his chair as he held it up to his face.

“‘Sup baby bear?”

“So you gonna email him?” Rhodey asked, ignoring Tony’s greeting (people were getting way too good at ignoring Tony. He was really going to have to do something about that).

“Cut straight to the point, don’t you?” he said, planting his feet so that the chair stopped parallel to the desk.

“Yup. So you gonna email him?” Rhodey repeated.

“How did you even find that posting in the first place? Is there something you need to tell me honey bun?”

“That I have superior web-surfing skills?” Rhodey shot back.

“I was thinking more along the lines of closets and people being stuck in them.”

“Tony, stop trying to change the subject. Are you gonna reply to the posting?”

“Noooo, it’s weird! And I don’t understand why you and Pepper don’t think that! Besides,” he continued, “I’m Tony Stark. I don’t need the Internet to get laid.”

Rhodey mumbled something that Tony didn’t catch but he thought he heard the word ‘choke’. (Stupid Rhodey. He enjoyed it far too much when Tony made a fool of himself.)

“Look Tony, there’s no harm in just emailing the guy, see what comes of it. You’re always complaining about being bored, here’s your chance to mix things up a bit,” Rhodey said.

Tony tapped his fingers on the table. He glanced back at Pepper who was staring straight at him, mouthing “Do it.” (Why wasn’t she absorbed back into her scintillating paperwork instead of eavesdropping on his conversation?)

“Okay fine,” he said after a moment. “I guess if it means _that_ much to you guys, I can give it a try.”

“Great,” Rhodey said briskly. “Make sure you’re sober when you write it.”

“God suck the fun out of everything, why don’t you,” Tony grumbled. He spun his chair again with a big push off the table. “So...you’re not gay at all?” he asked. “Like not even a little bit? Not even for Harrison Ford? Everyone's a little gay for Harrison Ford."

"No Tony, not even a little bit. Also, Harrison Ford is like a hundred years old."

"But _he's Han Solo! And Indiana Jones!_ Does that mean nothing to you??"

“Nope.” Rhodey answered. "Look, I have to go, we're leaving soon."

"Oh sure, how convenient, just when it's all about to come out, you skip town."

"Yes, I'm going to Afghanistan just to avoid confessing that I've secretly been in love with Harrison Ford for the last 15 years. And also you."

"Aha! I knew it! Nobody can resist my charms." There was a beat of silence (Tony would bet every dollar to his name that Rhodey was rolling his eyes). "Hey Rhodey," Tony said, tone light.

" _What_ Tony."

“Just…stay safe alright?" Tony said, trying to inject as much casualness into the statement (no, it was not a plea, thanks) as he could.

Rhodey's voice softened. "I will. See you soon Tony."

“Yeah, see you Rhodey.”

He hung up, sliding the phone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. When he looked back up he saw Pepper smiling gently at him, eyes knowing.

He stood up, clearing his throat. “I’m gonna head down to my workshop. Maybe blasting some AC/DC will get me in the right frame of mind to write this stupid email.”

Pepper’s smile turned into a full-blown grin. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as ‘right frame of mind’ with you.”

“True dat. Aight I’m outttttt,” he said, flashing her the peace sign as he sauntered backwards out of the room.

***

Tony sat in front of his computer screen, reading for the fourteenth time the Craiglist posting Rhodey had sent him. He’d already made updates to the Starkphone OS, optimized the engine on his latest car, built a new helper-bot, and designed a massive aircraft carrier that could fly (that last one was just for kicks. He didn’t see a reason why anyone who could afford it would ever _want_ an aircraft carrier that could fly. And turn invisible) all in the name of putting off writing this email.

The problem, he determined, was that this stranger need only read Tony’s name and a quick Google search would fill in the rest. It would take the stranger two seconds to learn that the person he saw on the train was not somebody recommended for further interaction. And for once, Tony thought, it might be nice to have somebody he met come to that conclusion on their own and not be led there by (sometimes) exaggerated media impressions. Even if the result was inevitably the same, Tony wanted to at least earn the rejection. So he ceremoniously decided to follow cyber-romance tradition and remain anonymous (determinedly ignoring the fact that his brain was supplying him with way too many chick flick plotlines lately). With that, the email writing became a whole lot easier. He found it strangely freeing, talking to a complete stranger without worry for facial expressions or preconceived expectations. He tapped out a surprisingly long message then pushed back from his desk with a huge stretch and yawn, the exhaustion of the day suddenly dropping on him all at once. Maybe he’d actually get a decent night’s sleep tonight. He looked up at the clock and groaned when it blinked 5:36am. Or maybe not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: depression and mentions of suicide. It doesn't actually affect the Steve/Tony part of the story so if you want to skip it, go to the *** about three-quarters of the way down.

Peggy pushed hard on the door with her hip, flinging herself out into the cool morning air as she tightened her scarf around her neck. She hurried down the sidewalk, dodging around the odd student struggling towards their 8am classes. The cloud of sleep still lingered over campus and the crisp winter air was quietly still, a stark contrast to the tumult echoing through her brain.

Halfway down Dorm Row she spotted an MIT police cruiser drifting ahead on patrol and she sprinted over to it. She rapped on the window, rubbing anxiously at her arms as she waited for the officer inside to roll down the window.

“Can I help you Miss?” he said, clearly confused about being flagged down on what seemed to be a peaceful weekday morning.

“My friend just called me and he sounded really upset and I’m worried he’s going to do something rash but he’s all the way over on East Campus. Do you think you could take me there?” she blurted out, anxiety flooding into her voice.

“I don’t know, I’m not really supposed to give rides to students...” he said hesitantly, then sighed, clearly seeing the desperation on her face. “Okay, get in. No, the front,” he added as she moved to open the back door.

“Oh.” She flushed, sliding quickly into the vehicle and shutting the door firmly.

The police officer tapped the gas and took off slowly down the street, keeping an eye out for half-asleep students crossing every which way.

“So your friend is a suicide risk?” he asked, right hand rooting around between the seats while his eyes remained fixed on the road.

Peggy fidgeted. “I think so. He called saying he needed help and he sounded really distraught and the last time he called me like that...I wasn’t there and they had to take him to a facility and it was...” she trailed off, looking down at her hands wringing in her lap.

“Okay, so he’s done this before?” the officer asked. He picked up the radio he’d found buried between his coffee cup and his muffin, waiting for her answer.

“Kind of, I guess,” she said, pausing as she remembered the chaos of that day. She’d been in a taxi when he’d called, on her way off-campus to an overnight Relay For Life event to raise money for cancer. She hadn’t turned back.

“He didn’t really _do_ anything, just kept saying he wanted to and he wouldn’t move and wouldn’t stop crying...I was told. I wasn’t there,” she repeated, glancing out the window as they stopped at a light. She took a deep breath, focusing on stilling her hands.

“We’ve got a potential suicide attempt, East Campus dormitory,” the officer said in a monotone. Peggy turned away from the window to look at him and saw that he was speaking into his radio. She watched, anxiety rising again as he finished relaying the information she had shared. The light turned green as he put the radio back down, both hands returning to the wheel.

“You called the EMTs?” she asked.

“We have to report all possible suicide risks,” he answered. He glanced at her again. “Is that going to be an issue?”

Her gut was churning, thoughts tumbling one over the other, each new one overwriting the last until her brain felt like it was going to explode from the contradictions. She ducked her head and started wringing her hands again.

“I don’t...I...maybe I shouldn’t have stopped you. I mean, he didn’t say he was going to do anything, I just...” She paused. She knows it must have taken a lot for Bruce to call her, to trust her to help him, and she was probably going to undo everything by arriving there with the cavalry. “Can you tell them not to come? Can’t I just talk to him? They might scare him.”

The officer shook his head. “Sorry, it’s too late. Once it’s called in, they have to follow through.”

Peggy swallowed. At least the EMTs on campus were just fellow students, not overworked professionals who would resort to the most extreme course of action without even listening.

They pulled up alongside the dorm, the policeman parking half up on the curb so as not to block the narrow street.

As they walked up to the side entrance, Peggy called Bruce to let her know she was outside. She kept her eyes glued to the ground as they waited for Bruce to come down the five flights of stairs to let her in. Something in her brain noticed that she’d thrown on two completely different shoes in her rush to get here.

Her head shot up when she heard the telltale clack of the door being pushed open. Bruce stood holding it open, a small smile on his face. Peggy’s stomach dropped. She had over-reacted after all.

He opened his mouth, presumably to greet her, when he caught sight of the officer standing behind her and froze, eyes growing wide.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice shaking slightly.

“Bruce, I’m sorry...” she started, only to be cut off by the infelicitous arrival of the ambulance, thankfully without its sirens blaring.

“Sir this is just routine procedure, but we’re going to have to ask you a couple of questions,” the officer stated as the two EMTS approached, one clutching a bag of some sort.

Bruce turned to Peggy, betrayal written all over his face. “Did you call them?” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Peggy didn’t get a chance to answer as the EMTs stepped between them, cutting her off her view of Bruce’s furious face.

She watched in a haze as the EMTs asked Bruce questions in the crowded stairwell, voices pitched low and gentle. One measured his blood pressure with tools he’d produced out of his bag. Bruce looked thoroughly annoyed by the entire process.

Peggy bit her lip, rubbing again at her arms. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the police office silently watching her but she found it hard to care. Bruce probably hated her now. She knew how worried he was about getting put on probation again, or worse, getting thrown out of school altogether and she’d just called attention to him for no reason other than her overactive imagination.

The EMTs finished their interrogation and cleared out, and the police officer nodded at Bruce’s question of whether he was free to go. Bruce started hurriedly up the stairs, Peggy trailing sadly behind him, but was stopped by the officer calling out to him.

“Just to let you know, this wasn’t her doing. I saw your friend rushing over here so I stopped her and called them,” the officer lied smoothly. Bruce stared at him for a second, then nodded and continued darting up the stairs. Peggy shot the officer a grateful smile before following.

Bruce didn’t say anything as they made the long trip up to his room, probably in part to him needing all his breath to climb the last couple of flights. He was panting hard as they reached his room. The door was slightly ajar, making it clear Bruce was expecting to come right back up here with Peggy. He pushed his way inside and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees and head dropping into his hands. Peggy entered too, slowly closing the door behind her. She leaned against it, quietly watching Bruce.

His skinny frame was clad in an old pair of jeans and a baggy Microsoft t-shirt he must have gotten free from the career fair. His feet were bare. He looked about twelve years old. Twelve years old with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He looked up after a minute, hair sticking up every which way from his hands clenching at it. “Why did you do that?” he asked, face plaintive.

“I didn’t...you sounded so...” She paused. “I was worried,” she said, stepping forward slightly.

“I just wanted to talk. You said I could call you if I needed to talk right?” he said, rubbing his hands back and forth over the rough denim of his jeans.

Her heart squeezed painfully at his desperate expression. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I won’t...next time we’ll just talk.” She walked the rest of the way across the room and took a seat next to him on the bed, her hand coming to rest on his back.

He took his glasses off and rubbed at his face with both hands. “It’s just...I’m having a bad day,” he said through his hands. He shoved his glasses back on and dropped his hands to his lap. “One of those horrible ones when I just feel like absolute crap and I _don’t know why_ and I thought maybe if someone was, if I wasn’t...alone...it would be...easier.”

Peggy ran her hand up and down his back, understanding twisting at her gut. She knew that feeling, she’d _lived_ that feeling for far too long. It had teased her constantly throughout her sophomore year and well into her junior year, laying in wait in the back of her brain until it felt like it was due for an appearance. And then suddenly her entire day would be gone, lost in a fog of insecurity and apathy, her brain working on overdrive while her body went on vacation.

Steve had been a lifesaver those times, once or twice literally (not that he knew that. She knew if she even mentioned any thoughts of self-harm he’d refuse to leave her side).

She didn’t know what had finally put the beast to rest for good, or at least into a long-term hibernation. A mix probably of the cheesy inspirational quotes she read on Tumblr, the conscious choice to listen to ‘happy’ music instead of the lamenting singer-songwriters that usually worsened her bad days, and of course, Steve.

That was around the time she’d met Bruce. They’d been at a party on her floor and there had been drinking and it turned out Bruce was a sad drunk, one of those who’s daytime mask completely falls away when too much alcohol hits their bloodstream, who turn out to be somebody completely different from the image they’d been projecting.

Peggy had met Bruce a couple of times before through a friend of a friend and didn’t really make much of him. She’d heard he was a bit of a pothead so perhaps he was just stoned those times they’d interacted. All she knew was that he was one of the genius types, the ones who got to MIT and still managed to coast as everybody else found themselves struggling to keep up for the first time in their academic lives.

But then, as the party was clearing out and people were disappearing into their rooms, she’d found him sitting in the corner of the couch, head tipped back. He’d been crying, silent tears running down his face. So Peggy had sat down next to him. That was apparently all the prompting his inebriated brain had needed to begin pouring forth his tales of unhappiness, of inadequacy, of loneliness. Tales that Peggy had found uncomfortably familiar. She’d related that to him, glad that her miserable experiences could at least be useful in _some_ way. The camaraderie had relaxed Bruce enough for him to fall asleep and she’d covered him with a spare blanket she’d snagged from her room before retiring to bed herself.

They’d struck up a friendship of their own then, sharing the occasional lunch between classes. Peggy had been pleasantly surprised to find that Bruce was actually great company when he wasn’t in one of his slumps, with a dry wit that frequently sent her into peals of laughter. And, of course, he was brilliant. It was fascinating to watch him explain the research he was working on with one of the professors, his hands enthusiastically gesturing and his eyes alight.

It made these times all the more painful to watch, times when, in complete contrast, his eyes seemed completely dead and body devoid of all animation.

She moved her hand to his arm, fingers curling around his too-thin bicep. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

For a second it looked like he was going to refuse. She could see his desire to simply curl back into bed, to just lay there and give in to the poisonous thoughts that were surely circling his brain. She stood up, tugging at his arm so he had to follow.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Let me just put on some shoes.”

She waited silently by the door as he found his sneakers and gathered his wallet and his coat. She didn’t know for sure what it was that had helped her through this but she was determined to do the same for Bruce.

***

Steve stared at his computer screen. He still couldn’t believe his stranger had found him. At least, he hoped it was the stranger and not Bucky pulling a mean prank. But no, there were too many details in there that he hadn’t told Bucky or Peggy, like the poor elderly woman he’d assisted on the train. He leaned forward and read over the words again.

_Dear Man-From-The-Train,_

_I’m glad you crashed into me too. And let me just say, reading Ender’s Game is a completely legitimate excuse to not be watching where you’re going (also it’s way more interesting than the sequel, Speaker for the Dead, so take your time. Savor it. Don’t let silly old ladies with blue hair distract you from it, even if they are about to collapse from too many carrots on their walker)._

_Anyway, so let’s see. I’m not really sure how this goes. I guess I would normally introduce myself? But I think for now, I’d like to keep anonymous, until it’s been scientifically proven that you are not, in fact, the Craigslist killer. Stupid guy ruined it for everyone. I suppose I could tell you that I’m an engineer. I actually live in New York but I’m in Boston pretty frequently for business. Especially when there’s a Yankees-Red Sox game on. I’m not really one for baseball but I like to wander around in a Yankees jersey after the Sox lose, stir things up a little. Plus running away from all those Southies really keeps me in shape._

_I pretty much lived in New York all my life, other than my brief stint in Boston for college, so I’ve got that whole superior city douchebag thing going on if that’s what you’re in to. Let’s see, what else? Hold on, I’m gonna go Google cheesy first date questions. Because that’s basically what this is right? Without either of us having to worry about getting spaghetti sauce on our chin (let it be known that I’m actually a pasta-eating virtuouso. Seriously I can make those strands dance without letting a drop off the plate)._

_Questions, questions. Siblings? Nope, have none. Favorite food? Um, does coffee count as a food? It should. It should have it’s own food group. And it should be right at the bottom of the pyramid, the biggest chunk so that you have to drink five times as much coffee as you eat slices of cheese. Because seriously, who likes cheese?_

_Do you have any pet peeves? Seriously, who wrote these questions, these are_ lame _. Thanks eHarmony. Well I suppose I should cut myself off anyway before this takes a turn for the ugly._

_Okay, so I really need to ask, it’s for scientific purposes and very important to my research. Were you ever a boy scout? And if so, how many badges did you get?_

_Peace,_  
 _Shellhead_

Steve’s lips quirked. The stranger wrote the way he moved, an effervescence to the words sparking them to life in Steve’s brain. This man was a constant stream of contemplation, it seemed, thoughts pouring forth in a torrent straight onto the screen.

Steve clicked reply, glad that he’d taken the time to create a separate email address as Peggy had suggested so that he could also stay anonymous.

_Dear Shellhead,_

_I like cheese. Especially American, although Pepper Jack is a close second. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s got more nutritional value than five cups of coffee but what do I know, I’m just an art student. A Graphic Design major, to be exact._

_I actually grew up in New York too, in Brooklyn, so if you’re a Manhattanite you still have that silly superiority thing over me. But that’s alright, I’ve got my stubborn Brooklyn pride too. Even if I’m not stupid enough to parade it around at Red Sox games._

_I guess if we’re calling this a first date, I should take a stab at these questions too. But who’s taking out who?_

_I’ve technically also got no siblings, though I’ve got a best friend who’s my brother in everything but blood. My favorite food varies by seasons - apple pie in the fall, beef stew in the winter, ballpark dogs in the spring and a large slice of New York pizza in the summer. Ugh, you’re right, these questions are kind of lame. (Sidenote: what’s eHarmony?) I do have a big pet peeve though. I absolutely despise textspeak and let me just say how relieved I am that you didn’t once use U or UR or strange abbreviations that I would have to look up._

_And no, I was never a boy scout. Wasn’t really a thing ‘round where I lived. Were you?_

_Yours truly,_  
 _Cap_

Steve hesitated, scanning the words over. His reply seemed so dry, so _boring_ , especially next to the stranger’s, no, _Shellhead’s_. He had no idea what else to add though. He’d never really done the first date thing, most of his relationships starting either from friendship or hookups. College was easy that way, just a ‘Hey, what’s your major?’ and ‘Which dorm are you in?’ and things pretty much carried themselves from there. He sighed. He’d already spent too long crafting his brief reply, taking far too much time figuring out what exactly his favorite food was. Hoping he wasn’t about to screw this up, he crossed his fingers and hit send.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 12/05/12 for continuity (the part at the end between Peggy and Steve)

Their emails continued back and forth, increasing both in frequency and length. Tony flicked his fingers, scrolling up the tablet so he could read their exchanges from the beginning.

 

_“...Do you wonder why it’s even called American cheese? Do you think the cheese makers just saw that the Swiss had one and were like goddammit we are the United States of America and we are not going to let damn Switzerland beat us at cheese!...”_

_“...I try not to think too hard about the origins of any food I’m eating, let alone where cheese got its name...”_

_“...the scar is mostly invisible now but for awhile I had this gigantic line across my forehead. I still cannot believe a seagull attacked me with a shell...”_

_“...Mine’s way less interesting. I basically wore the same cap all through high school, a vintage Brooklyn Dodgers cap that used to belong to my grandfather...”_

_“...college wasn’t really that fun for me. People don’t really like it when things come easy to you while they’re struggling. In retrospect I was kind of a dick about it...”_

_“...I do enjoy my classes but I actually really still love the traditional paper sketching. Just me and a pencil, no fancy computers fixing my lines for me...”_

_“...yeah, my dad wasn’t really my biggest fan but whatever. It doesn’t matter now anyway...”_

_“...they found the cancer but it was too late to really do anything. She’s the reason I’m here at school instead of out fighting somewhere...”_

He constantly surprised himself with how much he was sharing. He didn’t really think about it, just wrote whatever popped into his head and for some reason, his head wanted to tell this anonymous person anything and everything. It should’ve scared him (absolutely terrified him, really) but it was hard to freak out when everything was still so abstract. It was all too easy to pretend that the person on the other end wasn’t real.

“Behold! I have arrived, and I bring nourishment!”

Tony looked up from his device. He was stretched out on his stomach on the couch in the living room. It was late (not by his standards but Pepper was very vocal about her own so they’d managed to worm their way into Tony’s subconscious. And her standards said 10.30pm was much too late to be eating dinner) and the room had grown dark around him without his realizing. At some point JARVIS had turned on the ambient lights, shading the room a slight blue (somebody somewhere had said blue was calming and somehow JARVIS had decided calming was just what his coffee-fueled, hyperactive creator needed), adding an eerie dimension to the person standing in front of him. Tony squinted, eyes adjusting from the bright screen of the tablet and grinned. He hadn’t realized what day it was.

He really hadn’t needed to look up to know that the person in front of him was Clint Barton with a fresh pizza in hand, mushrooms and olives all over, sausage on one half and chicken on the other. The smell and the voice gave it away. Not to mention the longstanding tradition (okay, relatively new tradition) they had of chowing on greasy slices and playing video games every Thursday after Clint got off his shift. 

Tony scrambled into a seated position, lobbing the tablet on to the armchair next to him. “My hero!” he exclaimed, pitching his voice as high as he could and curling his hands under his chin. 

Clint snorted as JARVIS brought the lights up (god, Tony loved having an AI). He vaulted over the arm of the couch, somehow managing to keep the pizza box completely flat in his hand through the maneuver. He landed neatly on the sofa cushion, feet planted firmly on the floor. Tony did _not_ understand why a pizza delivery guy was in such great shape (unless he moonlighted as the _other_ kind of pizza delivery guy...wink, wink, nudge). It was distinctly unfair. He was the billionaire socialite, he should be the one with the grace of a...graceful thing. (Okay, he clearly needed to watch more Animal Planet.)

Tony opened up the box and grabbed a steaming slice before Clint could put it down on the coffee table in front of them. He folded it in two and took a large bite. And regretted it immediately.

“Ow, _fuck_ that is _hot_!” he yelped after he’d spat the bite out onto the table.

Clint cackled. “No shit, Sherlock. Do you _see_ the steam rising off of it?” Clint said, gesturing at the open box he’d calmly placed on the table during Tony’s screeching fit.“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?”

“I am a genius, thank you very much,” he said, with as much dignity as possible (which wasn’t much considering he was currently fanning his open mouth with one hand while the other dripped tomato sauce onto the carpet).

“Uh huh. That’s why you do the same thing every week.”

Tony didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead choosing to blow on his slice impatiently.

“So what’re we playing today?” Clint asked as he reached for his own slice.

“I thought we’d go a little old school with some Puzzle Fighter,” Tony answered. He stared down at his food, trying to decide if it was too early to risk another large bite. He couldn’t feel anything in his mouth now anyway.

“Sweet.” Clint leaned back on the couch, stretching his legs out under the coffee table. “Get ready to get your ass handed to you on a silver platter.” He tilted his back and lowered the slice into his mouth from above.

“Yeah, ok. Just don’t start crying again when I beat you,” Tony threw out casually.

“I wasn’t crying! I stubbed my toe when I jumped up and my eyes watered!” Clint exclaimed, bits of sausage flying out of his mouth.

“Yeeeuch,” Tony said, swiping at his face. “Say it, don’t spray it, Fountainhead.” He raised the hand holding his slice, adding “I vote we shut up and eat now, trash-talk later.”

Clint just rolled his eyes before taking another large bite.

***

“So when are you gonna do it?”

“Huh?”

Peggy had on her lord-grant-me-patience look. Steve didn’t know what he had done to deserve it.

They were sitting in her dorm room, her at her desk and he on the futon behind her under her lofted bed. Ostensibly they were both working on homework but Steve had found himself reading the latest email Shellhead had sent him instead. For about the billionth time. He’d all but memorized the words. 

Clearly Peggy was having a little trouble focusing herself. She was sitting sideways in her chair twirling a pen between her fingers. 

“When are you going to meet him?” she asked, gesturing at his laptop with her pen. “In person?”

Steve choked. “How did...I don’t...”

Peggy just stared at him, waiting for him to finish his spluttering.

“You think we should meet?” Steve squeaked after he’d calmed slightly.

“Duh. Wasn’t that the whole point of this thing?” she stood from her chair and came over to sit beside him. “I mean, you guys have been emailing back and forth for what, six weeks now? And judging by your gooey expressions when you read and reread his emails, it seems like it’s gotten pretty intense. Don’t you think it’s time to take the next step?”

***

Clint stood by the armchair, Tony’s abandoned tablet in hand. He was so caught up in his reading that he failed to notice Tony had returned to the living room, icy beers in hand.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Tony hissed.

Clint jumped, dropping the tablet. It hit the ground with an ominous clatter. “I was just...holy shit Tony, when you told me you’ve been talking to some guy off Craigslist, I didn’t think you were _serious_.”

Tony stomped forward to sweep up his busted tablet, dropping the beers on the table along the way. “So you thought you’d just read my personal emails?”

Clint scratched at his arm. “I was trying to go on your Facebook actually...and proclaim your love for eating dog crap.”

Tony goggled at Clint. After a moment, he sighed and turned to collapse on the couch, broken tech in hand.

Clint, deciding his chances of getting beaten to death were sufficiently low, tentatively perched on the couch next to him. “So, um...” Clint said awkwardly. Tony’s head was bowed over the gadget as he tried vainly to rescue it. “That was some pretty intense stuff in there,” Clint finished, gesturing vaguely at the tablet. 

Tony’s hands tightened slightly around the plastic. “Yeah, what of it?” he said harshly, his head still ducked.

“Nothing, it just...seems like you guys have something pretty special,” Clint said softly.

***

“What if he’s crazy? No, seriously, for all the joking around we’ve been doing, what if he’s actually a serial killer? Or worse, what if he’s just some bored teenage girl pretending to be a gay man so she can roleplay some weird homoerotic fantasy?”

Peggy gaped at him, flummoxed. “Okay, I’m not even going to go near the whole teenage girl thing because frankly, I don’t want to know.” Steve flushed slightly. “Also, you’ve already met the guy remember? You seemed pretty sure from the beginning that this was actually the man from the train. What’s changed now?”

“Oh,” Steve said, fidgeting, “you’re right.” He rubbed at his knees, avoiding Peggy’s gaze. “I guess I got so caught up in our emails that I forgot about the actual person on the other end...” he trailed off. That was a lie. His mind still sharply held on to the image of the man tapping away intently at his phone. It wasn’t hard for Steve’s artistic mind to extrapolate from there so that every time he read a long, garrulous email from Shellhead, he could practically see the other man’s graceful fingers flying over the keyboard, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he typed out intimate details about his life for Steve to consume. 

“I just...I mean he’s still a stranger,” Steve said. “This has the potential to go wrong in so many ways!” He jumped up from the futon and hit his head on the lofted bed with a loud thunk. “Ow, _shit!_ I do that _every time!_ ” He ducked out from under the bed and rubbed his throbbing head as Peggy tried to stifle her giggle. Steve scowled at her, waiting for the pain to ebb. 

Peggy sighed. “And the potential to go so, so right,” she said softly. “What are you really afraid of Steve?”

“What am I afraid of?” he asked incredulously. “I mean, look at me!” He flapped one hand at his head, where the other hand was still trying to soothe the bump. “I’m a walking disaster. There’s a reason I fail at this so often, you know.”

“Uh yes, because the guys you choose are all dicks,” Peggy retorted. “And don’t make a joke about liking dick,” she hurriedly added. Steve just frowned at her. She moved out from under the bed, carefully avoiding hitting her own head, and stood in front of him. “Not to go all cliché on you,” she said, bracing her hands on his shoulders, “but any guy would be lucky to have you. And this guy finally seems like one who’s intelligent enough to see that.”

Steve dropped the hand pawing at his head. “What if it doesn’t work? What if he doesn’t want anything to change?” he asked in a subdued voice. “I...we’ve talked a lot. I don’t want to lose his friendship.”

Peggy smiled sadly. “There’s always that risk.” She dropped her arms. “But that’s what makes it worth it, right?” 

***

“So he has no idea who you are?” Clint prodded.

“Do you think we’d still be talking if he did?” Tony asked wryly.

The grin slid off Clint’s face. He hadn’t known Tony all that long but he’d learned pretty quickly that the guy definitely had self-esteem issues. It completely threw Clint. He’d shown up that first day with a large pie and been waved up straight to the penthouse. He’d heard of Tony Stark of course, everyone had. So the last thing he’d been expecting when he rang the doorbell was a young guy in a nondescript hoodie and jeans, Converse on his feet and hair sticking up at the back. Clint, nosy as he was, had snuck a peek over the billionaire’s shoulder as he was struggling for his wallet. He wasn’t really sure what he’d been looking for. Maybe some half-naked chicks from Playboy sitting in a hot tub filled with hundred dollar bills. What he had not pictured was a giant TV paused in the middle of Portal 2. In his excitement, he’d loudly blurted out “the cake is a lie!”, freezing Tony in his movements. Thankfully, instead of Clint losing out on a tip, his proclamation had somehow evolved into a discussion over the bitchiness of GLaDOS. That had ended with Tony inviting him over to play the co-operative mode together.

He supposed something should have tipped him off then, that the man who supposedly had it all wanted to play video games with the pizza delivery guy. 

The thing was, it wasn’t that Tony was _alone_ per se. There were constantly people floating in and out of his space. But usually they were expecting things, or rather, demanding things of him.  Or just plain throwing labels at him. It was easy to see how Tony could get lost in it all.

“You know Tony, as hard as it is to believe, some people actually do like you,” Clint said. “Just as you are.”

Tony finally looked up then, blinking at him. Clint thought he saw a flash of _something_ on his face but before he could figure it out, Tony had it tucked away, hidden under a mouthful of teeth and snark. “Okay, Bruno Mars,” he said, tossing the broken tablet aside, “as fun as circle time has been, I think it’s time to get back to me completely destroying you at Puzzle Fighter.”

Clint rolled his eyes at the totally unsubtle change of subject. “Whatever you say, Stark.”


	6. Chapter 6

Peggy walked briskly down the long hallway after her last class, tightening the scarf she’d just wound around her neck. She didn’t understand how it was still so cold in April, especially when it had been warm enough for shorts just last week.

The corridor was calm, the lull between afternoon and night classes leaving the way peacefully clear of scurrying students. Sometimes Peggy really hated MIT’s system of having one main hall that connected all the buildings. It made the morning rush a little too similar to a game of Frogger. At times like this though, she was grateful to be able to avoid the biting winds for as long as possible. 

She pulled up to an abrupt stop as a poster tacked on the wall caught her eye. It was one she’d passed twice a day for the last week or so. 

Okay, so she might have had an ulterior motive for choosing yesterday to push Steve on meeting his mystery man. Peggy had it on good authority that Tony Stark would be in town in a few days. And by good authority, she meant this poster stating that Stark would be in town in a few days. There was a grand opening for the new cancer research lab just off campus and apparently Stark was the main benefactor.

The way Peggy saw it, the less reason Stark had to say no to Steve’s request, the better for everyone. After all, it was about time the two met in person anyways. Steve was absolutely head-over-heels for Stark and judging by how frequently new messages came in, it certainly seemed like it went both ways. Peggy was just helping things along their natural path. 

She sighed, hitching her backpack up and turning away from the brightly-colored paper. Taking her steps more slowly, she continued her walk back to the dorm. 

Peggy knew she was probably being too interfering but she found it hard _not_ to interfere when there was a way she could help. More so recently, since she hated the idea of anyone feeling as crappy as she had last year, no matter the reason.

“Hey Peggy,” she heard someone say from behind her.

She stopped, spinning around. Speaking of...

“Bruce!” she cried, pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know you had class this late.”

He smiled faintly, catching up to her with his hands stuck in his pockets. “Nah, I’m just coming from lab. Decided to call it an early day today.”

“Good decision,” she said, smiling back. “So what are you up to now?”

He shrugged, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Going home, I guess.” 

“Do you want to come to dinner?” Peggy asked. “I’m meeting a couple of old friends. Have you met Steve?” Bruce shook his head. “He goes to BU but he hangs out here sometimes.”

“I, uh, I don’t want to intrude,” he said, tracing curves on the floor with his shoe.

“You’re not intruding,” she said cheerfully. “I’m inviting you. Besides,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his, “we’re getting Indian food. You don’t want to miss out on Indian food do you?”

Bruce looked up, this time the smile on his face reaching his eyes. “No, I guess not.”

“Well, come on then!” Peggy said, grinning. She hooked an arm through Bruce’s.  “Chicken tikka masala waits for no one.”

 

***

_Do you want to meet?_

Tony stared at the message, eyes running over the short sentence again. It had blindsided him, tacked on to the end of a long, light-hearted story about Steve’s first time ice-skating (and what a disaster that had apparently been). 

He supposed he should have seen it coming. After all, the point of Missed Connections wasn’t to start a cyber romance filled with unresolved sexual tension. It was to find the person who caused all the sexual frustration and bang it out. Or at least, that’s what Tony used to think.

But he didn’t think Cap wanting to meet was just about consummating their relationship (or whatever this was). No, Cap wanted to put a name to a nickname and a face to a name (without the distractions of science-fiction and old ladies). It was the first part that terrified the shit out of Tony.

Anthony Edward Stark. He hated that name. It brought with it so much baggage it might as well have it’s own carousel at the airport.

“What are you doing?”

Tony jumped, promptly falling off his stool and tipping it over with a loud clatter. He scrambled up and righted the stool as Pepper tried (and failed) to stifle her giggles.

“Sorry,” she said, heels clicking as she walked further into the workshop (she didn’t look the least bit sorry). “Didn’t realize you were so deeply immersed in your work.” She leaned up against the workbench where his laptop was resting, arms folded around the papers she clutched to her chest. “Usually when you’re that far gone, there’s loud music and robots rolling around.”

He cleared his throat and perched himself carefully back on the seat. “I, uh, I’m not really working,” he said, studiously avoiding her gaze.

She looked around exaggeratedly, then ducked down slightly and whispered “It’s okay, I won’t tell the boss.”

“Ha, ha” he said, picking up a screwdriver and rolling it in his hands. “No I was just...” he trailed off. Maybe Pepper would know what to do. She was a real person who had real life experience. There had to be something that was analogous to the dilemma of whether or not to meet the breathtakingly attractive guy you’d been spilling the depths of your soul to who may or may not ditch you when he finds out you’re really a bratty rich kid with too many IQ points and the heir to one of the biggest companies in the world to boot. 

Well, probably not. But she’d know what to do anyway. She always did. 

He dropped the tool back on the bench and glanced up. Pepper was looking at him patiently, a mildly curious expression on her face. “I got another email from Cap,” he said tentatively. Pepper raised an eyebrow. “He wants to meet.”

“Oh.” Pepper’s other eyebrow had joined her first. “Are you going to?”

Tony shrugged, swiveling the stool back and forth with his legs. “Maybe,” he said. “I think I’d like to,” he added softly.

“So what’s stopping you?” she asked. 

“I dunno.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I just...it’s been nice, you know?” Tony said. “Just being a normal guy.”

“Tony, meeting people on Craigslist is not normal.”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “It’s been nice not being Tony Stark, fuck-up extraordinaire.” He turned back towards his laptop so he could avoid that look in her eye, his feet still squeaking the stool right to left to right. “I could sort of pretend that I wasn’t going to eventually screw this up.”  The ‘just like everything else’ hung in the air unsaid, thick and weighted.

“Oh, Tony,” he heard her exhale.

“Besides,” Tony rushed on, forcefully tuning out the pity in her voice. He pitied himself enough for everybody. “It’s not like we can be together anyway. At least, not publicly.”

“And why not?”

Tony shrugged again. “Obie thinks it’s better for the company if the world thinks I’m straight.” God, he really needed to fix the squeaking in this stool.

Pepper huffed. “The company will survive. As long as you’re still making their little toys, I don’t think it matters who you decide to love.”

“Hey, hey,” Tony protested, looking up at Pepper. “Nobody said anything about love here!”

Pepper lips quirked up. “You know, you’re going to Boston next week anyway,”

“I am?” he said, planting his feet and bringing his stool to an abrupt stop.

“Mmhmm,” she said. “They’re finally opening that new research lab.” Tony was still confused. “You gave them a lot of money two years ago...” Pepper prompted.

“Ohhhh. Wow, that took them awhile didn’t it?”

It was Pepper’s turn to shrug, though Tony had no idea how she made the small movement look so graceful, like it was just another step in the dance that was Pepper Potts. “Bureaucracy. You know how it is.” She pulled the folders from her chest and dropped them on the bench. “Speaking of bureaucracy, you need to sign a few things.”

“Ah, so that’s why you dared venture down to my secret lair.”

“Well that and to tell you you have grease on your nose,” she said, poking the offending spot.

“Thanks mom,” he quipped as she wiped her finger on his mangy t-shirt. He picked up a rag and scrubbed at his face, his vision momentarily blocked by the white material. When he dropped the cloth back down he found Pepper looking at him intently. “What?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “I miss a spot?”

“You should do it,” she said. “Meet Cap.”

Tony sighed. “There’s just too many...I mean, he doesn’t know...what about the paparazzi, and there’s still the distance and it won’t...”

“Stop over-thinking,” she interrupted. “Just take it one step at a time. You’re worrying about the future too much.”

“I can’t help it,” he said, fingers tangling in his hair again. “That’s the way my brain works.” 

“Tony,” she said, crouching down so he was no longer craning his neck up at her (god she was tall. Even without the six-inch heels). “Forget everything else. You deserve to be happy.” She smiled gently. “And Cap makes you happy. It’s as simple as that.”

Tony looked back at her, dropping his hands. One step at a time, maybe he could do that. And if they did meet, they could go ice-skating together because the way Cap skated sounded totally adorable. He’d be falling over with only Tony’s arms wrapped around him to support him. The cold air would redden his chiseled face in that absolutely delectable way and Tony would...

“Good.” Pepper’s voice snapped him out of his daydreams. “I’m glad you decided to go for it.” She stood up smoothly and, tapping the folders on the desk, said “Don’t forget to sign these.” Then she spun on her dangerously high stilettos and swept out of the workshop.

Tony blinked after her. After a moment, he shook his head and pulled the folders towards him. The woman was definitely not of this world.

 

***

Steve looked up from his menu as the bell over the door jingled, spotting Peggy entering the restaurant. He stuck his hand up and waved until she spotted him, which was probably unnecessary in the tiny restaurant.

“Hey guys,” she said breathlessly as she approached. She dropped her bag by a chair and started unwinding the scarf from around her neck. “This is my good friend Bruce,” she continued, gesturing at the skinny guy next to her.  

Steve and Bucky stood up, shaking his hand one-by-one as Peggy introduced them. As they took their seats, Steve shot Peggy a questioning glance, mouthing ‘that Bruce?’. Peggy nodded sharply as she shrugged out of her coat. There were slight frown lines creasing her forehead.

“So Bruce,” Bucky started, eyes flicking up at the man across from him as they all perused their menus, “you go to MIT with Peggy?”

“Yup,” Bruce said.

Bucky nodded. “Man, you brainiacs. So what’s your major?”

“Physics,” Bruce replied.

“Cool,” Bucky said. He didn’t look like he believed it. “Soooo do you blow things up?”

“Not really, no.” His eyes remained glued to the menu.

“Ooookay.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at Peggy. Steve knocked his knee against Bucky’s under the table.

“Are you ready to order?”

Steve was grateful for the waiter’s timing. “Yeah, I think so?” he said, looking questioningly at the group. They all nodded. “Peggy, go ahead.”

Peggy rolled her eyes slightly at Steve’s ‘ladies first’ attitude and gave the waiter her order. After he’d finished and disappeared with their menus an awkward silence descended. Bruce’s eyes were glued so intensely to the tablecloth that Steve wanted to ask if he saw equations hidden amongst the threads.

“So Bucky, I hear you’re an Advertising major now,” Peggy said.

Taking their cue from her, the three fell into their old banter, catching up and reminiscing about high school. Steve would attempt to bring Bruce into the discussion once in awhile but the other man stuck to one-word answers. 

Once the food arrived, conversation fell to the bottom of the agenda. After they’d passed the initial period of silently stuffing their faces and had slowed down slightly, Bucky cut through the sounds of chewing. 

“Man,” he said, “this gravy is great but I kinda wish they’d made it with beef.” He poked at his food with a piece of naan. “These potatoes just aren’t doing it for me.”

“I doubt you’d want to eat beef made my people who worship cows,” Steve replied.

“I was attacked by a cow once,” Bruce said casually.

Peggy choked slightly on the water she was sipping from.

“Uh, what?” Bucky asked blankly. Steve couldn’t agree more.

“They wander around the streets in India, you know.” Bruce poked his fork through his chicken. “Completely free, even in the busiest cities.” He looked up to find the other three gaping at him. “I spent a summer there a couple years ago.”

“Oh, that’s right! I forgot about that. For Development Lab right?” Peggy said, setting her glass down.

Bruce nodded.

Peggy turned to the other two and started explaining. “We have this class where you work on these development projects during the semester and then in the summer you go to third world countries and implement them. It’s pretty cool actually. Bruce you should tell them about the thing you did.”

“No, wait, wait, wait,” Bucky cut in, gesturing with his naan. Steve yelped when a bit of gravy hit his cheek. “You can’t just throw something like that out there and not explain,” Bucky complained. “Tell us about the cow with a vengeance.”

“Preferably without emphasis from your food,” Steve added, wiping his face. 

Bruce grinned. “Well,” he said, “it started with a packet of crackers...”

As Bruce unwound his story with a surprising deadpan wit and Bucky loudly guffawed along, Steve snuck a glance at Peggy. Her lips were pressed together in a half-hidden smile, eyes soft as she listened to her friend’s tale. Steve leaned back in his chair, his own lips quirking up in response. Peggy had been carrying the weight of Bruce’s happiness for too long and it was clearly taking a toll on her. He was glad the other man seemed to be coming out of his shell.

He turned his attention back to Bruce just in time to hear “And then this monkey came out of nowhere...” and joined Bucky in his shouts of delighted laughter.

 

***

Shift, question mark, done. He scanned over the email quickly, his eyes settling for a moment on the last sentence.

_Okay, let’s meet. I’ll be in Boston next weekend. Sunday, 2pm work for you?_

Tony hit send before he could change his mind and then spun around, grabbing his bottle of whiskey and pouring a shot in one smooth motion.

“To one step at a time,” he said quietly. He tilted his head back and let the shot burn its way down his throat, refilling the glass as he swallowed.


	7. Chapter 7

“Eat rocket launcher, turd!”

“Hah! You missed!”

“Quit looking at my screen, you cheater!”

“I am not. Unlike you, I know how to read a map!”

“Yeah? Unlike you, I don’t need to cheat to win a video game!”

“I’ll show you winning you jumped-up little...”

“Ahem.”

Tony froze, turning his head to find Pepper standing behind the couch looking down on them with an amused expression on her face. Clint was straddling Tony, one arm pinning his hands above his head and the other hand clenched in the fabric of his shirt. 

“Should I come back?” she asked sweetly. 

Tony kicked up, sending Clint toppling onto the floor. He scrambled up, smoothing down his shirt. “No, we were just having...a disagreement.”

“He started it,” Clint mumbled sullenly, untangling himself on the ground.

Tony glanced past Pepper, spotting the figure in the doorway. “And you brought Coulson! Where were you five minutes ago when I was getting attacked, Mr. Security?”

Coulson strode forward, coming to stand next to Pepper and raised an eyebrow. “Interrupting foreplay is not part of my contract.”

Clint spluttered, climbing back up on to the couch. “He threw a controller at me!” He picked up said offending object. “These things hurt!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Quit whining, you big baby. Besides, you were the one who...”

“Children, don’t make me call your father.” Pepper cut in. She stepped around the couch and came to stand in front of them, Coulson following her. “Tony, Coulson needs to speak with you.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up and he straightened in his seat. “What’s going on?” Coulson eyes darted towards Clint. “He’s fine.” Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. “What’s going on?” he repeated.

“We’re going to have to increase your personal security for awhile. Nothing major, just a single body with you at all times.”

Tony sighed. “Ugh, fine. You do know this puts a total crimp in my social life right?”

Coulson glanced at Clint again. “I don’t really see how that’s a problem.”

“Hey!” Clint objected.

“Come to think of it,” Tony said, turning towards Clint slowly, “I don’t really know anything about _you_ at all. Seems like that would be some kind of security hazard, considering you’ve been here every week mating with my couch.”

“I’m an international man of mystery.” Clint said, sticking his nose in the air and pressing a hand to his chest.

“Actually, we’ve run a full background check on Mr. Barton, and while not exactly stable, he’s relatively harmless.” 

Tony giggled as Clint gawped. Tony didn’t know if he was more offended by the accusations of instability or harmlessness.

“If you’re so good at your job, why the sudden need for more security?” Clint asked Coulson accusingly.

“Once in awhile I get a death threat that might actually become something,” Tony said airily, “so they throw a gorilla in a suit at me to cover their asses.” He turned to Coulson. “How many times have I been almost kidnapped now? Six since I graduated?”

“Five,” Coulson replied. “We don’t count the stalker.”

“Why not?” Tony cried. “She was terrifying!”

“She was fourteen.”

“Makes it worse.” Tony slumped back into the cushions. “So who is it this week? Sitwell? I hate that guy. Please tell me it’s not Sitwell.”

“Fortunately for him, he’s unable to take your case right now. We’ve decided to try something different for you anyway, someone a little more subtle.”

“Hah! Stark and subtle do not belong on the same _planet,_ let alone in the same sentence,” Clint said. Tony ignored him (see, he _could_ be subtle).

Pepper stepped forward. “Phil and I talked about it and we think this new person will be a much better match for you.”

“Phil?” Tony said. “Uh, his first name is Agent.”

“Agent?” Clint stretched out his leg to kick at Tony’s. “Stark, what, do you have MI6 looking after your skinny little ass?”

“Are you British now or something?” Tony retorted. “What happened to the good old CIA?”

“Meh,” Clint said, flapping his hand. “Bond is way cooler than that Bourne dude. I mean, did you even see that new Bourne movie?” he said, piling his legs one on top of the other on the coffee table. “God, it was lame. Jeremy Renner has to be the least convincing action star ever. Daniel Craig,” he said, folding his hands behind his head, “now there’s a man I can get behind.”

“I don’t know,” Tony replied, “I think Coulson can give ‘em both a run for their money.”

“Oh yeah?” Clint said. “Let’s see your behind then,” he turned to Coulson, waggling his eyebrows.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Coulson said. “Stark, your agent will be meeting you for wheels up tomorrow morning.“

Tony shot up out of his slouch. “Wait, my babysitter’s coming to Boston? How the hell am I supposed to get any with a lumberjack in secret service sunglasses hovering over me?”

“I don’t believe that will be an issue with your new detail,” Coulson said mysteriously, slipping a pair of sunglasses on (man, did he love his mystery). “Enjoy.” He swiftly exited.

“Where did you find that guy?” Clint asked. “And can I keep him?” He put a hand over his heart. “I think I damn near swooned.”

Tony looked at Clint with interest. “I didn’t know you were actually gay,” he said.

“I don’t believe in labels,” Clint replied dismissively. “Especially when it’s got an ass like that. Boy, Agent Phil can really rock a suit.”

“How come you never hit on me?” Tony asked, affronted.

“Did you not hear me earlier? Your ass is too skinny. Besides, you’re too high-maintenance.”

Tony shrieked. “I am not. Take that back right now.” Clint rolled his eyes. “Also, my ass is perfect, thank you very much.”

“Do you always talk about butts this much or am I just getting a special show?” Pepper asked, looking up from the phone she’d been scrolling through.

“Nah sometimes we talk about boobs instead,” Tony replied off-handedly.

“Right. Well I’ll leave you two to get back to giggling about boys,” she said, tracing Coulson’s steps to the exit. “Tony, wheels up at 8am tomorrow.”

Tony groaned. “I thought the whole point of having my own plane was so that I wouldn’t have to wake up at ungodly hours to go anywhere.”

“No, the point of you getting your own plane was, if I recall, so you could install stripper poles for the crew,” she called over her shoulder before she stepped into the elevator.

“Oh.” Tony pressed a finger to his lips. “She’s right.”

“Hey, how come I never get to ride on your magical jets with stripper poles?” Clint said, pouting at Tony.

Tony shrugged. “You want to come to Boston tomorrow?”

Clint flopped forward onto the cushions. “Noooooo,” he groaned, voice muffled by the material. “I have to work tomorrow! And Sunday.”

“Too bad. That was a one-time offer, good this week only, no take-backs, no trade-ins, money back guarantee.” Tony smirked. “Guess you’re going to have to continue living a sad flying-stripper-free life.”

Clint turned his head, craning up at Tony. “I hate you.”

\--

_The next morning_

“ _You’re_ my security detail?” Tony cried. “I thought you were Pepper’s assistant!”

Natalie, no, _Natasha,_ shrugged. “I was her bodyguard for awhile. But now I’m with you.”

“I don’t believe this. You lied! I feel so betrayed! _Betrayed!_ How am I supposed to trust you with my life now?” 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Stark, quit your histrionics and get on the plane before I tranquilize you.”

Tony scowled at her. “I hate you.”

***

“Can you stop glaring at everyone for, like, a minute?” Bucky yelled, straining to be heard over the loud thumping music.

“I’m not glaring!” Steve objected. “I’m watching them dance.”

“You look like you’re trying to burn holes in them with Superman eye-lasers.” He took a sip from the plastic cup clutched in his prosthetic.

“I just...that’s not dancing! They’re basically having sex on the dance floor!”

“Uh, yes, that’s called dancing. Where have you been for the last 10 years Steve?” Bucky grinned at him. “Want me to get a ruler so you can make sure they maintain a six-inch distance between them at all times?”

Steve huffed. “Well, I don’t think...”

Bucky must have have recognized Steve’s signs of pontification because he suddenly turned away from him. “Darcy! Hey Darcy!” he called.

Steve followed Bucky’s eye-line to try and figure out who had been so important so as to ruin his speech. He spotted a pretty brunette with some knockout curves waving enthusiastically in their direction. She disappeared behind a pillar for a second and then resurfaced with a gigantic blond man behind her. The girl started making her way over, dragging the stranger with her.

“Who’s that?” Steve asked, nudging Bucky.

“Darcy? She’s in one of my advertising classes. And man, did she choose the right major. Girl can talk, I’ll tell you that.”

“Who’s the guy with her?” Steve persisted.

“No idea. But he’s way too big and blond for you Steve. You guys would be the most terrifying couple ever. Enchanting, but terrifying.”

“That’s not why I’m asking!”

“Oh right, forgot you’re married to a guy from the Internet.”

Steve didn’t get a chance to reply before the pair appeared before them.

“Hey!” the girl, Darcy, exclaimed. She dropped her friend’s arm and threw herself at Bucky. “Jamessssss! Jim! Jimmy boyyyy!”

Bucky caught her with his good hand as she landed on him, managing not to drop his drink in the process.“You okay there Darce?” he asked, voice strangled with contained laughter.

“I fear Ms. Lewis has partaken rather enthusiastically in your ritualistic ale dances,” the tall guy said.

“He means I did a keg stand,” Darcy whispered loudly. She abruptly stood up, pulling back from Bucky. “Hold on! Where are my manners?!” she threw her hands in an open gesture, as if hoping to find her manners floating somewhere in the air. “Guys, guys. This,” she said, stretching one hand up to rest on the strange man’s shoulder, “is Thor. Thor, this is James Barnes,” she said, pointing at Bucky, “and this is...” Darcy squinted at Steve. “Um, actually I have no idea who this guy is. Guy, who are you?”

Bucky clapped one hand over his mouth, trying desperately to swallow his laughter. Steve shook his head and stuck out his hand. “My name is Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Darcy took it and delightedly exclaimed “Steve Rogers! You are way too good to be real. Look at you, all blond hair and blue eyes and,” she reached up her free hand to squeeze his bicep, “impressive muscle. Wow,” she said, squeezing again. “Really impressive muscle.” She sighed. “Too bad you’re gay.”

Steve dropped her hand, eyes widening. “I...what...did Bucky tell you?”

“Bucky?” Darcy said, brow furrowing in confusion. Bucky raised his hand. “He calls you Bucky?” she squealed. “Well aren’t you guys just the cutest beings in existence?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “No _Bucky_ didn’t tell me.” She leaned forward and tapped her nose. “I just know these things.”

“You can smell it?” Bucky asked, eyebrows raised.

“What? No! That,” she tapped her nose again, “was just for dramatic effect. Which you now ruined.” She glared at him. “Thanks.”

“I am most confused. How is it Ms. Lewis can smell your happiness?” Thor asked.

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance. “Uh, no she meant _gay,_ ” Bucky said. “As in, likes the P, not the V.”

Thor still looked perplexed. Darcy giggled. “It means Steve here would rather stick his dick in you than me,” she said.

Bucky finally gave up trying and burst out laughing. Steve blushed bright red, glad it was too dark in the crowded room for it to be noticeable.

“Ah! I see! He has no taste for the fairer sex!” Thor boomed. His volume control seemed to be stuck on maximum.

“Can we please stop talking about this now?” Steve said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Bucky gulped down his drink and dropped the cup on the table behind him. “Come on Darcy,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist, “let’s go dance.”

Darcy giggled, allowing herself to be pulled towards the mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies.

“So Thor,” Steve said, watching them go. He turned to face the other man, “where are you from?”

“I hail from the glorious realm of Asgard, friend Steven,” Thor replied. “And yourself?”

Steve blinked at him. “Uh, okay...” He scratched his head. “I’m from Brooklyn.” He picked up his cup from the table. “You’re...uh...quite a ways from home.”

“Aye. But Earth is rather wondrous, I must admit.”

Steve nodded. “Sure.”

Thor peered at him. “You seem troubled, friend.”

“Just tired.” Steve swallowed down his water. “I think I’m going to head out actually,” he said. “When Bucky’s done, can you let him know I went home?”

Thor gazed at him silently for a second, then nodded.

“Thanks,” Steve said. He stepped around him and made for the stairs.

A few minutes of pushing and dodging later and he was free, the cool night air a sweet relief as he walked back towards his own dorm.

In just over 36 hours, he was going to be meeting Shellhead - the man he knew so well and the man he didn’t know at all.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected the other man to agree to meet so quickly. He’d been gearing himself up for the rejection and now he was thrown. And if that didn’t just define every step of this whole thing...

If someone had told him from the beginning that a ride on the subway would have turned into this...well he’d have asked them what they’d been smoking. But somehow, it felt like the universe was trying its hardest to pull him and this man together. It was just another sign, really, that Shellhead already happened to have plans to visit Boston this weekend. 

Steve snorted, rubbing at his face. He didn’t know when exactly he’d started to buy into all this crap, but in the past few weeks, he’d found himself thinking that maybe certain things were just meant to happen. Maybe there was a reason he bumped into that man on the train.

For once in his life, he wasn’t going to question it. Thinking too much had never worked out well for him in the past. It was time to just let things flow and hope for the best.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday came far too quickly for Tony’s taste. Luckily he had meetings all morning, leaving him little time to dwell on his two o’ clock appointment.

He stared blearily at the mirror. This was it. Today was the day. He was going to meet this man and everything was going to go great and...

Fuck. Was that a pimple?

\--

Steve rolled over and turned off his alarm. Sunday was his sleep-in day since ROTC usually had him up at the crack of dawn but today he needed the time to prepare.

He pushed up out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, scratching at his chin. A shave was definitely in order. And then he just had to figure out what to wear...

\--

The next time Tony blinked, it was 1:45 (there must be something wrong with all his clocks. No way did time go that fast). 

Okay, just like Pepper said. One step at a time. He could do this. 

He had Happy drop him a block away from the café so he could walk the rest of the way. The streets were dense with boisterous families and young college students enjoying the warm spring day. Weaving in and out of the crowds, he moved up the sidewalk towards their meeting point, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Just three more steps...two...one...

His feet kept going.

\--

Steve glanced at his watch again. Bucky always made fun of him for wearing it, saying he was probably the only guy under thirty who didn’t just use his cellphone to tell the time. Shellhead had said the same thing.

It had been an hour. An hour that Steve had sat there like an idiot, waving away the waitress whenever she came to take his order. He’d finally upgraded to a smartphone a couple of weeks ago with some recommendations from Shellhead. Thumb swiping over the bright screen, he checked his email to see if the other man had had to reschedule but there was nothing but radio silence. He clicked the lock button and dropped the phone to the table. It was time for him to face facts.

He wasn’t coming.

***

“That was a shitty thing to do, you know,” Natasha said.

Tony took a large swig from the glass in front of him. “Yeah, well it’s not your job to tell me how shitty of a person I am. I already have enough people doing that, thanks.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Save me the self-pity parade.” She pulled the glass away. “You could have at least let him know you weren’t coming.”

He squinted at her. “I take back what I said. Sitwell would have been so much better than you.” He jumped off his bar stool and lumbered towards the bathroom, the four shots he’d thrown back in quick succession taking their toll.

Ignoring the creepy old guy leering at him from the urinal, he went straight for one of the grimy stalls. He shut the door and collapsed against it, leaning his head back with a sigh. “Fuck.” He brought his head forward and let it thunk back again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Clint’s number. His fingers flew over the keyboard.

_I couldn’t do it._

Once he’d sent it, he returned to the important task of banging his head into oblivion.

_What happened?_ The reply was almost instant (Tony only managed to get one good hit in).

_What do you think? I suddenly remembered I was Tony Stark._

There was no response for awhile. Tony was about to return his phone to his pocket when it dinged again. He clicked the message open and saw it was a media file. Curious, he hit play.

_“Oh, her eyes, her eyes, make the stars look like they’re not shining...”_

His phone’s speaker was top-of-the-line and the song filled the bathroom, echoing around the dingy room. He gaped at it for a second, unsure how to react. Then he heard a voice mumble “what the fuck” and he just lost it.

Phone clutched tightly in hand, he slid down the door until he hit the floor, desperate laughter shaking his entire frame. The cold from the disgusting tile seeped through his pants as he sat there and listened to the whole song. When it was over, he saw that Clint had sent another text. Wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, he clicked it open.

_This is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Don’t throw it away because you’re dumb enough to think you’re a fuck-up._

Tony stared at it, blinking back the moisture that was coming again (dammit he was turning into a weepy drunk). He sniffed slightly, bracing one hand on the floor to push himself up when his phone beeped again.

_Also, if you ever show anyone these texts, I will not hesitate to slip arsenic into your pizza._

He snorted, feeling absurdly grateful for that night he’d invited a delivery guy into his apartment and into his life.

Tony slipped the phone back into his pocket and struggled to his feet. He unlocked the stall door and went to the sink, glad to find the bathroom now empty of dirty old men.

The water coming out of the tap wasn’t exactly clear but he splashed it over his face anyway, rubbing slightly at his eyes. He rested his hands on either side of the sink and peered at his pathetic reflection in the mirror. “Come on, Stark.” he told it, voice barely above a whisper. “You can do this.”

He took a deep breath and abruptly straightened. Tugging his shirt back into place, he gave his reflection one last look. “Let’s give being happy a try.”

Tony strode out of the bathroom and headed for the exit. “Come on, we’re going,” he said, dropping a couple of hundred dollar bills onto the bar as he passed. 

Natasha slipped off her stool gracefully and followed. “Where, exactly, are we going?”

“Back to the hotel,” Tony threw over his shoulder, not slowing down. “I’ve got some hacking to do.”

***

A few hours later, Tony stood in the middle of a Boston University dorm, (mostly) sober and staring at a closed door. He took a deep breath and knocked, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Steve opened the door. His eyes widened as he took in the person in front of him. Tony lifted one corner of his mouth in a half-smile.

Steve pushed on the edge of the door, letting it swing shut in Tony’s face. Tony stared at it, frozen, when it suddenly opened again. He opened his mouth.

And was promptly punched in the face.

“Ow, _fuck._ ” He heard a snort and turned, clutching at his jaw, to where Natasha was casually leaning against the wall. “Aren’t you supposed to _stop_ shit like that?” he asked incredulously.

Natasha shrugged. “You deserved it.”

Before Tony could reply, he took another hit to the left side of his face, which he’d presented as a beautiful new target when he’d turned (he clearly needed to work on his self-preservation instincts). “ _Fuck!”_ he yelped, squeezing his eyes shut and hunching over. “Stop that!”

“Bucky, leave him alone.” Tony felt a jolt of recognition. The last time he’d heard that voice, it had been asking an old lady where she’d found such perfect tomatoes.

He straightened up and squinted through one unhurt eye, trying to see around the truck that had hit him. “I think I should try one with this arm,” the guy in front of him said, lifting his left arm. Tony spotted it’s unnatural shine and swallowed.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Natasha cut in.

“Who the hell are you?” Bruiser spat at her. “His girlfriend?”

Natasha just raised one eyebrow.

Ignoring her, the Ali-wannabe (Bucky, apparently) turned back to Tony, left arm coming up. Suddenly, the man was on the floor and Natasha was pressed on top of him, knee digging into his back.

“I said that’s enough.”

“Wow.” Tony tore his eyes from the tangle on the floor to follow the voice. Cap was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, looking down at Bucky and Natasha, an impressed look on his face. Taking advantage of his distraction, Tony swiftly examined the man in front of him. He had on a plain white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips, his sandy hair slightly ruffled. He was just as beautiful as Tony remembered (boy was he glad. His brain sometimes had a way of hyping things up).

Steve must have sensed his gaze because he abruptly swiveled his head.

“Uh...” Tony swallowed as their eyes met. “Hey Cap.”

“What are you doing here?” Well, that was just the greeting he was looking for. Cap squinted at him suspiciously. “And how did you know where I live?”

"You weren't exactly covering your tracks,” Tony replied, shrugging. “I just followed your IP, found your real name and hacked your school's database for your address. Nice photo ID by the way. Very dapper." Steve gaped at him. Tony sighed. "Remember how I told you I was sort of smarter than a lot of people? Well I'm actually a genius. Certified and everything. Although, somebody also tried to certify me insane so I don't know how much these things count for anything…" Tony trailed off. "Sorry, I talk a lot when I get nervous.”

Tony scratched uncomfortably at his neck. “Look, can I come in? People are starting to peek their heads out in the hall and I really don't want anyone taking pictures of this.”

Steve just stared at him for a second. Then he sighed, moving back and opening the door wider. “Yeah, I’ll give you something for your face.” Surprised, but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Tony stepped quickly into the room. Steve shut the door behind him.

\--

Natasha stood up, brushing dust off her jeans. She stretched out an arm to Bucky and he took it, letting her pull him up. He looked around, spotting a couple of people poking their heads out their room doors. Natasha spun around and glared at them until they retreated.

Bucky whistled lowly. “That’s pretty impressive.”

Natasha ignored him. She looked back at Steve’s closed door. “This might take awhile,” she said.

Bucky leaned back against the wall opposite the door and slid down, folding his legs. “Pull up some floor,” he said, patting the ground next to him.

Natasha remained standing, staring down at him with an eyebrow raised. “You seem to have gotten over your indignation rather fast.”

He shrugged. “Steve can handle it from here.”

Her eyes locked on his for a second before traveling swiftly downwards. Bucky followed her gaze to his metal fist, resting in his lap. It clenched involuntarily, creaking slightly. He looked back up at her warily, waiting for an awkward comment or pitying glance.

“Which campaign?” she asked instead.

“Huh?”

She angled her head sideways, gesturing at his arm with her chin. “You fought right?”

“Oh,” Bucky nodded, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Yeah. Afghanistan. Last year.”

Natasha’s only response was a sharp nod. She returned her gaze to Steve’s door, arms crossed and back to the wall. Bucky watched her, mind churning. 

“You fight too?” he asked after a moment.

Natasha’s lips curled up slightly. “Something like that.”

\--

Tony looked around, noting the dog-eared pictures of Steve with the man who’d violently attacked him (looking ridiculously mischievous in every one), the prints on the wall, and the framed photo of Steve in a tux (and damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen), his arm wrapped around a beautiful girl in a long red dress (that must be Peggy).

It was strange, being in Cap's room after all the intimate emails they'd exchanged. It was like the pieces were finally fitting together properly, like he'd found that last puzzle piece that was hiding under the couch and pressed it into place.

He was so occupied with his surroundings that he completely forgot about the man himself. Until he heard a throat being cleared pointedly.

Tony spun around, guiltily dropping his outstretched hand from a painting on the wall. "Sorry, it's just, this room is so _you_." Tony accepted the ice pack he was holding out and pressed it to his jaw, hissing as the cold hit his sore skin. 

An awkward silence filled the room.

Steve was still staring at him, albeit with slightly less hostility and slightly more puzzlement. Tony shoved his free hand in his pocket, flexing his fingers. 

"I feel like I know you," Steve said.

Tony's heart abruptly leapt into his throat. "Me too!” He pulled the ice pack from his face. “I feel like I've known you forever and we've only just met-“

"No, I mean, I feel like I've seen your face somewhere," Steve interrupted, cutting off Tony's cliche-ridden proclamations (which was probably a good thing). “Besides that day on the train.”

"Oh," and there his heart went. He could almost hear the cartoon plummeting sound effect. Tony clenched his hands, one bunching the material in his pocket and the other crunching the ice. "Yeah," he said miserably. "That's what I was trying to tell you. Not trying too hard, mind you, but you can't really blame me after all the shit people have said and done and said _I've_ done…"

Steve cleared his throat again. Tony noted gloomily that Steve was avoiding using his nickname, the only name Steve had for him, really.

Tony inhaled deeply, puffing the air back out through pursed lips. He slowly removed his right hand from his pocket and stretched it out. “Hello,” he said quietly. “I’m Tony Stark."

Steve's jaw dropped. Tony had heard that phrase a billion times over his life (he was no stranger to hyperbole, after all) but he'd never actually seen it happen. But there Steve was, mouth hanging open, completely speechless.

Then he abruptly snapped it shut. His gaze dropped to the ground, jaw working. Tony silently watched him, a slight ache building in his outstretched arm.

Steve's head flew back up again suddenly. All his motions had been sharp since Tony had come in, his movements coming in staccato bursts of pent-up energy. Tony didn't think it boded well.

"So you're Tony Stark, the billionaire?” he asked roughly. “The one who graduated from MIT at 17? Who runs one of the biggest companies in the world?"

Tony shrugged.

Steve's eyes darkened. "You knew who I was the entire time? What was this, just some joke to you?"

"No…I…" Tony dropped his arm back to his side.

"Was it a game? Find pathetic people on Craigslist and see how far you can string them along? Are you that bored with your perfect, privileged little life?" Steve sneered, getting right in Tony's face.

Tony stiffened. The ice pack fell out of his fingers, hitting the carpet with a loud thunk. "Is that what you really think?" he hissed. "After everything I told you, all those things I said that I haven't…couldn't…" his mouth kept moving but Tony couldn't force the words out. He knew it wasn't going to end well. He should never have come.

"See this is why I didn’t want to meet. Everybody just hears my name and they think they know me. And here I was, the world's biggest idiot for thinking this was different. For thinking that for once, maybe if someone got to know me first, they may actually like me. That it wouldn't matter what my name was because they would have seen past all of that, seen the real me. Not the face that I have to plaster on at parties, not the money I throw around at fundraisers, not the crap they read about in the papers. Just…me."

He squeezed his lips together and took a step sideways. "You know what, forget it. Clearly you don't know me at all." He pushed past Steve and strode determinedly out of the room, his gut twisting and his chest aching (don't look back, don't look back, don't look back).

\--

Bucky leaned his head back against the wall. “It’s quiet in there. I guess it’s going well.” There was a loud thump. “Or...maybe not.”

He straightened his head as the door opened, raising an eyebrow when Steve’s friend came storming out. He swept past them without stopping. Natasha smoothly turned to follow. Bucky swore he heard her mutter something about “stupid men” under her breath.

Bucky turned back to the open doorway. Steve was standing in the middle of his room, frozen. Bucky sighed. It seemed like nothing would ever be easy for them.

He stood up, brushing the dust from the floor off his hands. “What the hell happened?” he asked, stepping forward into the room.

Steve was staring blankly at the ground in front of him. “I...” He blinked, eyes darting up to focus on Bucky. “I don’t really know.”

\--

“When are you going to stop running?” Tony heard Natasha call from behind him.

“You telling me you can’t keep up? What kind of bodyguard are you exactly?” Tony shot back.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tony ignored her, pulling his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and jamming them on. He stopped in the foyer, staring out the glass doors into the dark night.

“Rain. Well isn’t that just perfect.” He turned back to Natasha. “Where’s Happy?”

“Circling around. He couldn’t find parking.”

Tony huffed agitatedly, running his hands through his hair.

\--

“He says I don’t know him?” Steve said, voice incredulous as he paced back and forth in the small room. “ _He_ doesn’t know _me_. I mean, how could he think I would react badly to knowing who he is?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Uh, hate to break it to you, but it sounds like that’s exactly what you did.”

“I...” Steve shut his mouth, feet coming to a halt. He scrubbed hard at his face with both hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Bucky said, shrugging, “you’re both idiots.”

\--

“What, is he circling all the way to San Francisco?” Tony tapped his foot impatiently. “Fuck this, I’ll walk.” He pushed through the doors into the downpour.

Natasha followed about five paces behind. Tony appreciated the space more than he could admit.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. This whole thing was stupid. He shouldn’t have gone to Steve’s home. He should never even have emailed the guy in the first place. 

Tony was never taking the train again. Scratch that, he was never coming to this stupid city again. And fuck Craig, Tony was going to buy his stupid website and turn it into a page dedicated to drunk cats.

His foot splashed straight into a deep puddle. “Goddammit!” He stopped, angrily trying to shake the water out of his shoe. The low growl of thunder sounded in the distance, lightning briefly illuminating the sky. Tony wrenched his glasses off and threw them as hard as he could. Fucking two thousand dollars and he couldn’t even use them when he needed to. 

He gave his foot one more rough shake and trudged on.

\--

Steve galloped down the stairs, leaping over the entire last flight. He burst out the doors and anxiously turned his head left and right, ignoring the large raindrops pelting his skin. Relief rocked through him as he spotted Tony not too far up the sidewalk.

“Tony!” he yelled. Tony didn’t respond. “Tony!” he repeated, starting to jog. Increasing both his pace and his volume, he tried again. “Hey Tony!” 

When Tony still ignored him, Steve took a deep breath. “Shellhead!”

Tony stopped.

Steve kept jogging, brushing past the girl Steve now assumed was his bodyguard.

Tony turned just as Steve reached him. “What? What do you want? Come for a payoff? Some blackmail money so you won’t spill the story to the press? Cos I have to say, I really don’t think...”

“Will you just shut up and listen for a second?”

Surprisingly, Tony clamped his mouth shut.

“Look, I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...reacted...the way I did. I was hurt and upset and _scared_ dammit. I’ve been so terrified this entire time that this wasn’t real, any of it, and then you didn’t show and it’s like all my fears were coming true and I just...I mean...this whole thing is just so _crazy_. We crashed into each other in a train station and the next thing I know, I’m posting on a site I’ve never even visited, hoping this random stranger would somehow happen to stumble onto my tiny little ad. I mean, think about how much crap there is on the Internet. This was just a little chunk of text floating around in a gigantic cyberspace filled with everything you could possibly imagine. And you- you’re Tony Stark! Why would you even _be_ on Craigslist?” Steve swiped impatiently at the water dripping down into his eyes, trying to focus his rambling thoughts. “But against all odds, you found me. You found me and we talked and it worked and now you’re _here_ and it shouldn’t make sense but it does.”

He took a deep breath. “And I guess the heading on the site says it best. Missed Connections. Because that’s what it felt like when I first met you. It’s like my whole life, I’ve had things working and it seemed like enough. There was sound and there was picture but everything was in black and white, the whole world in monochromatic shades. It didn’t matter then because that was all I knew. But then I met you and it was like someone plugged in the missing wire and all at once my world was bursting with color. Suddenly I was...I was _alive._ " He swallowed hard.“And I don’t want to go back to black and white. I don’t think I can.”

Steve rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is...” He brought his hand down, stretching it out in front of him. “Nice to meet you Tony Stark. I’m Steve Rogers.”

Tony stared down at the hand, then looked back up at Steve, eyes wide. Steve kept his arm out, blinking nervously. Suddenly, Tony took Steve’s hand and _pulled._

Before Steve could react, Tony wrapped his other hand around Steve’s neck and brought his head down, crashing their lips together.

Once Steve was over his shock, he pressed back, bringing his free hand up to cup Tony’s face. The kiss was warm and wet and Tony’s lips had the salty taste of city rain. It sent shocks all the way down to his toes and back up. Steve parted his lips slightly and Tony pushed inside.

\--

Tony felt Steve’s lips part and didn’t hesitate. He licked inside his mouth, his tongue wrestling Steve’s into submission. The rain was coming faster now, beating down hard on the back of his neck and sliding cold down his spine. Steve angled his head, allowing Tony better access. The kiss grew messier, teeth clacking and spit mixing with raindrops, and his hand was uncomfortably squashed as their bodies pressed together. 

It was the best damn thing Tony had ever experienced. 

So of course, it was quickly cut short when Tony heard the tinny click of a camera phone. He abruptly pulled away, whirling around to find the source of the noise.

“Fuck, fuck, how do they always...” He trailed off, spotting Bucky standing under an overhang with his phone held out. Natasha was next to him, her arms crossed and a giant smirk on her face.

“Sorry,” Bucky called. “I couldn’t help it. You guys look like the cover of a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

Tony turned back to Steve, who looked slightly dazed. “Your friend is a real pain in my ass, Cap.” He rubbed at his chin, near where Steve’s hand still rested. “Also my jaw. Ow.”

Steve dropped his hand guiltily, snapping out of his stupor. “Sorry! I forgot.”

“Eh, it was worth it.”

Steve smiled slightly but still bent down to squint at Tony’s cheek in the lamplight. “Oh, that’s actually starting to look really bad. I think he may have bruised the bone.”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” He looked up at Steve through his lashes, intent on putting that deliciously dazed look back on his face. “Now, where were we, Frankenstein?”

Tony leaned forward to resume what Bucky had so rudely interrupted but frowned when Steve pulled back. 

“Frankenstein?” Steve asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, you know,” Tony flapped his hand, “your whole speech about wires and coming alive? Although, actually, I guess since I was the one who brought _you_ to life that would make _me_ Dr. Frankenstein and you the monster. Sorry about that. Also, I know you're an artist so I'll forgive you but that’s not how color works. I mean, you can’t just mmasfakgjk-” 

Tony stopped talking and focused on the soft lips that were pressing against his mouth once more. He sensed that Steve kissing him to shut him up was going to become a frequent thing. (He found he didn’t mind much).

“Hey boys,” Natasha’s voice rang out. They pulled apart again, turning their heads to look over at her. “Now that your dramatic reunion is over, you think that maybe we can get out of the pouring rain?” She gestured behind them.

Tony whirled around again to see a black car idling on the road, right by where they stood on the sidewalk. The two of them slowly turned back to look at each other. Tony coughed slightly and scuffed his shoe against the pavement.

Steve rubbed at his neck. “I guess you should go. Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” He glanced at his watch. “Or rather, in a few hours?”

Tony shrugged. Well this was awkward. All the movies always cut away right after the big kiss. He had no idea what was supposed to come next besides credits.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I suppose I should.” Tony scratched his head. “Flight to catch and all that.”

Steve brought his hand up and gently pushed back the hair that was hanging down in Tony’s eyes, weighted down by the rain. “You know,” he said casually, “I’m actually going to be in New York next weekend.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony’s brows drew together. “When’d that happen?”

“Mm, about three minutes ago.” Steve stepped forward, closing the gap between them again. “Only problem is,” he said, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist, “I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

The billionaire grinned, bringing his arms up to rest on Steve’s shoulders. “I think something can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Except not. This is by no means the end of what I have planned in this 'verse but it seemed like a good stopping point. There will be a sequel going up soon. Thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dramatic Reunion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/844069) by [Vespera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vespera/pseuds/Vespera)




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